


Winter's Light

by excentrykemuse



Series: Lux Kingsley Verse [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Love Triangles, Sex, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 13:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16430561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excentrykemuse/pseuds/excentrykemuse
Summary: Sirius Black and Lux Kingsley did not have a son--but instead have a daughter.  Now she is trapped between two loves, three suitors, and the dark and the light.  Psychic, spy, lover, she has to find her place within the wizarding world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Death Mist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15857760) by [excentrykemuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/excentrykemuse/pseuds/excentrykemuse). 



**Prologue—** _  
Hold on to this lullaby, Even when the music’s gone._ **  
—“Safe & Sound,” Taylor Swift**

“This is wrong,” Imbolc breathed, and she turned to look at her cousin Draco Malfoy. They had snuck out of the Manor and were wearing their best approximation of Muggle clothes. Draco was wearing his Hogwarts uniform sans robes and Imbolc was in a black Illyria dress that cinched at the waist and flared down to her knees.

Draco came up to her and touched her shoulder. “What can we do? We’re playing truant.”

“There must be a Muggle priest here,” she said decidedly. She was crouching before the grave, her gloved fingers tracing the lines. “They don’t even have her married name. She’s Heiress Sirius Black, Lux Black if you want to get Muggle. Why are they using her maiden name of Kingsley?”

Draco shrugged. “Who understands Muggles?”

Imbolc breathed in deeply and stood. “I think I saw a rectory somewhere,” she admitted. She glanced at the small stone church and then looked until her eyes alighted on a house next to it. “That would be it.”

“Imbolc, really,” Draco said, as he followed her. She was walking at a fast clip toward the building. “There is nothing we can do. We already illegally Apparated here. We’re just fifteen.”

She breathed in deeply. “Draco, we have to try.”

“Then let’s bring it up with Father. Cousin Lux is his niece after all.”

Leaning in toward him, she whispered, “He finds her marriage shameful.”

“True,” Draco answered, “but he loved her and he adores you. You know he considers you his eldest daughter.”

She nodded. “Promise me we’ll see this through.”

“We’ll see this through,” he swore, offering his hand. They shook on it. He grabbed her and pulled her into his embrace and she just curled into him.

“How did she ever end up here?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Draco said truthfully. “We’ll find out. I promise. She’ll be given a proper burial with the Malfoys because the Blacks can’t give her one.”

She pulled back and looked into his gray eyes. The Black eyes. Her own were violet like her mother’s. However, they both had the Black cheekbones. “But Father’s out,” she murmured. “He’s wanted by the Ministry of Magic, but he’s still out and on the run. Perhaps he’d give her a proper burial.”

“We don’t know where he is, Immy,” Draco reminded her, pushing a non-existent strand of hair in place. Unlike most purebloods, Imbolc did not favor twists and buns and chignons on the top of her head. Instead she would twist her hair to her shoulders and then combine it in intricate patterns that were nowhere near her head. She was simply breathtaking in his opinion. “You also know Father has forbidden you to send him a letter.”

“I still find that strange,” she admitted. They were now hand in hand, walking away from the cemetery and through the small village. “We both know where Uncle Lucius’s loyalties lie, and it would seem that Father’s are inclined a similar way.”

Draco shrugged again. “Father must have his reasons,” he murmured. 

Imbolc stopped at a shop window and looked at some aging books. “Draco, do you have any Muggle money?”

“No,” he answered honestly. “I don’t think I actually own any.”

“Neither do I,” she answered. “Oh well,” she sighed, allowing Draco to pull her by the hand.

They came to a tree, which was a good few streets away from their Apparition point, and Imbolc looked at Draco in question.

“We’re fifteen,” Draco began.

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m also still four months older than you are!”

“I’m taller,” he joked before sobering. “I haven’t gone to Father yet, because I didn’t want you to feel pressured or beholden.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Her violet eyes flashed, and she startled when his free hand came up and caressed her cheek. “What are you doing?”

“Loving you,” he answered before his lips descended onto hers. The kiss lingered for a few moments before she broke away, not looking at him.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” she admitted.

“I know,” he murmured, taking his hand away, but still holding hands with her. “I just wanted you to know.”

Her eyes moved toward his face. “We’re related,” she said in wonder. “Through both your parents.”

“I don’t care,” he stated emphatically, “as long as you don’t care. If it’s too much, if I’m just a brother or a cousin to you, you have only to say so.”

“And you’ll go off and marry some other blonde,” she half-said to herself. Imbolc breathed in deeply. “Just—let me think, Draco. I hadn’t considered.”

He looked relieved. “Of course, Imbolc. Take all the time you need. Just remember, my heart is yours if you want it.”

She smiled at him. “You’re quite the romantic if you want to be.”

“My mother’s a Black. Hearts as black as ours love so deeply it’s as dark as the night.”

“You forget I’m named for light, like my mother before me,” she reminded him.

“Your heart is still black,” he said assuredly. “Just like your father’s. How else would he have overcome the godsibling bond and have married your mother? No, you Blacks transcend boundaries. Look at your Grandfather Orion and Grandmother Walburga. They were cousins.”

“Second cousins,” she laughed. “Although I was very young when Grandfather Orion died, I don’t think he thought of Grandmother Walburga with affection.”

“You may be right,” he conceded. “But there’s your father, your Uncle Regulus with the unknown French witch, my mother who defied everyone who said she was illegitimate to marry Father, my horrible aunt who married the Muggle-born, that must have been love for her to do such a dreadful thing…”

They both shivered.

“I honestly don’t know about Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus. Then again, they’ve been in Azkaban for most of my life,” Draco admitted.

“I take your point.”

They smiled at each other.

“I do care about you, Draco, so dearly,” Imbolc admitted. “I just want you to know that, however this turns out, you’re so important to me.”

“That’s a starting point,” he murmured, stroking her cheek. “I can live with that.”


	2. Part the First

**Part the First—** _  
You and I walk a fragile line, I have known it all this time._ **  
—“Haunted,” Taylor Swift**

Draco ran down the corridor and into the drawing room where the ladies of the house were passing the hours. Aunt Narcissa was reading in Latin to little Io and Lacerta was at her needlepoint. Imbolc was at a writing desk, presumably at her correspondence with her friends from Beauxbatons.

“Immy,” he said. “I need to borrow you.” He looked at her pointedly. “If that’s all right with you, Lady Mother.” Although he was only poking his head through the door, he still managed to bow to Narcissa.

She smiled at him. “Imbolc, you may go with your cousin,” she said. “Just remember to come back and collect your correspondence.”

“Of course,” she said, dropping a kiss on the top of her aunt’s hair. It was in a net, which was rather casual, but the purple rather flattered her blue robes. Imbolc’s hair was once again in her elaborate twists that folded down to her shoulders.

Draco reached out his hand and grabbed Imbolc’s, pulling her through the door and toward the stairs.

“What’s this about?”

“Trust me,” he said as they hurried along. “I saw a guest come in and I know you’ll want to see him.”

“Why doesn’t Uncle just bring him into the drawing room?” Her pale green and prink robes were rather long and she was holding them up with her free hand. 

“They hate each other,” Draco said, not turning around. They were now rushing up a back stairwell. “I mean hate each other. This is the only way. We’re going to have to break every pureblood rule. Are you okay with that?”

“Who is it?” she demanded, nearly tripping. They were now turning into another hallway toward Uncle Lucius’s office.

“Trust me,” Draco begged. “We don’t have much time.”

They hurried down another corridor and then down another until they came to Uncle Lucius’s study. Without even knocking, Draco opened the door, pulling Imbolc with him.

She was momentarily confused. She took in the familiar study with its mahogany panels and her Uncle Lucius’s personal sketches of the family. Then she saw the man sitting in a chair opposite the desk. He had her cheekbones, her nose, the same forehead, and, yes, the same full lips. His black hair fell to his shoulders and curled and his eyes were as gray as a Black’s.

Imbolc looked at Draco who was nodding to her. She then glanced at Uncle Lucius who seemed rather upset. Turning to the man again, she asked, “Father?”

“Draco,” Lucius said. “Take your cousin back to wherever you found her. There are matters we gentlemen must discuss.”

“No,” Imbolc said, stepping forward, reaching out to touch the man. “You are Sirius, Lord Black, are you not? Aren’t you?” Her eyes flicked between Uncle Lucius and her father.

Sighing, Lucius offered her the other chair on the opposite side of his desk and poured her a glass of elven wine. She accepted it and took a sip.

Turning her attention back to her father, she asked, “Why didn’t you come last year or the year before that? You’ve been free since the summer before third year. You even came to Hogwarts, but you went searching for your godson in Gryffindor Tower. I always wondered—why didn’t you come looking for me?”

The warm presence of Draco was suddenly behind her, and she smiled softly when his hand landed on her shoulder.

Her father cleared his throat and took a sip of his firewhiskey. “I was set up, Imbolc. The man who did it was an animagus and he was in Gryffindor Tower. I managed to capture him at the end of your third year, but he escaped before I was able to prove my innocence. I was wandering all of last year, living off of whatever I could find, but now I’ve moved back into Grimmauld Place—“

“Where Grandfather Orion lived?” she asked happily.

He looked at her strangely but then nodded. “I’m still a wanted man, but I have a home under the Fidelius.”

Uncle Lucius finally spoke. “You can’t have her. The Wizengamot awarded her to my custody when Lux died and you’re a convict. What kind of guardian would I be if released her to you?”

“You know I’m innocent,” her father stated emphatically.

“Be that as it may, the Ministry is still out for your blood. Imbolc is a young lady. We’re hoping to hear any day now that she’s made prefect, along with Draco, of course.”

For the first time, it seemed that her father noticed Draco standing behind her. “Your eldest?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lucius agreed. “You were at his baptism with Lux.”

“I remember she was upset she couldn’t stand godmother because they were cousins,” her father murmured. He looked pensive. “Are they courting?” His voice was rough and his eyes darted between Imbolc and Draco.

“No,” Draco answered. “I think we’re a little young, Cousin Sirius.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed before he turned to Uncle Lucius. “Visitation rights, then. Once a week for an afternoon. Perhaps she’d enjoy redecorating Grimmauld Place. It needs a woman’s touch.”

“Only if one of her cousins accompanies her,” Uncle Lucius bargained. “I don’t care if your house is under the Fidelius. I would prefer it if Draco goes with her and, if not him, then Lacerta.”

“How old is Lacerta?”

“Thirteen,” Uncle Lucius informed him. “She’s a bit young, which is why I would prefer Draco. The two were raised as twins, anyway. I also want her to have access to the Black vaults. I do not mind providing for her, far from it, but it’s time she had access to the family jewelry since she is the Black heiress.”

Before her father could respond, Imbolc spoke. “I want something out of all of this. Draco and I found Mother’s grave. It’s in a Muggle cemetery and says Lux Kingsley. I want her to have a proper Black or Malfoy burial.”

“Have you been Apparating again?” Uncle Lucius asked in defeat. “Where did you find her?”

“Haye-on-Wye,” Draco supplied. “We’re almost positive it’s her. It’s where Imbolc lived until she was five and came here.”

Uncle Lucius hummed. He looked at Imbolc’s father. “What are the Black arrangements? We have a private cemetery on the grounds.”

“We have a vault,” he admitted. “I can show it to Imbolc and Draco when they come over.”

“Very well. It’s Wednesday. You may come for them at one on Saturday, that way it won’t disrupt their lessons. They must be back for dinner at six.”

Her father nodded and shook on it. Imbolc took another sip of her wine and looked up at Draco who squeezed her shoulder in response. Turning to her, Sirius Black looked at her in the eye. “You look so much like your mother,” he told her. “The same eyes, the same hair. I know this means nothing coming from a stranger, but you’re beautiful and I couldn’t be prouder to call you my daughter.” He reached out his hand and stroked her cheek. She leaned into the touch. “It was only the thought of you and your mother that kept me sane in Azkaban. I love you, my darling Candlemas.”

She startled at the nickname, but offered him a small smile. “Welcome home, Father.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you Saturday.” With another nod to Uncle Lucius, he left. 

Imbolc sat in her chair and felt so alone.

“Drink up,” Draco suggested as he took the vacated chair. “It will probably help.”

Uncle Lucius looked between the two of them. “I don’t mean to pry, but are you courting?”

She blushed.

“She’s deciding,” Draco answered for her. “I’m hoping that if we do, that we’ll have your blessing.”

Sitting back, Uncle Lucius looked between the two of them. “First cousins once removed is a little close,” he admitted, “but with a heart as black as Imbolc’s, I wouldn’t dare stand in the way.” He smirked at them.

…

“Your grandfather lived here?” Draco demanded as they walked through the front door. “It’s a bit drab.”

“It does need work,” Imbolc admitted as Sirius closed the door behind them. “I don’t remember it being so dark, but then again, Grandfather died when I was four.”

“We have some guests,” Sirius admitted. “You might know them from Hogwarts.”

Imbolc looked horrified. Draco looked at her sympathetically. “You do realize we’re Malfoys.”

“My daughter is a Black.”

“Her mother was a Malfoy,” Draco argued, “and Immy was raised as one.”

“You’re in Slytherin, aren’t you?” Sirius suddenly asked in horror.

Imbolc could only sigh. “No. However, Draco only meant that we’re blood purists. I know from what Uncle Lucius has said that you’re not, even though Mother was—“

Her father nodded. “Well, I’m afraid there are blood traitors and Muggleborns here.”

Draco and Imbolc shared a look. “Ever the gracious lady,” she said.

“Yet another lesson in fortitude,” Draco complained. “At least at Hogwarts we can offend anyone we want.”

“You’re in Slytherin,” Imbolc corrected. “You can offend anyone you like. I’m in Ravenclaw like Mother. We have Muggleborns.”

“Right,” her father said, clapping his hands. “If you just go up the stairs.”

They were met with a crew of ginger-tops and a girl with bushy brown hair. “Hermione Granger,” she introduced, taking Imbolc’s hand and shaking it. “I’m so excited. I had no idea Sirius had a daughter.”

Her smile tightened and she turned to her father. “You allow people to refer to you by your given name and not by ‘Lord Black’?”

“I’ve never been one for titles,” he admitted.

She looked at him strangely.

“What are you doing with Malfoy?” one of the ginger-tops, a girl, asked.

“We’re cousins, Weaslette,” he said snidely, “through the Blacks and through the Malfoys.”

“Sorry for living,” she responded, before coming up and introducing herself. She was Ginny Weasley and a year below them at Hogwarts. “Harry should be coming soon, hopefully,” she admitted. “Do you fancy him?”

Draco snorted.

Imbolc was rather caught off guard. “I’m afraid I’ve never met him. I’m in Ravenclaw and we only have a few classes together. We do both take Divination, come to think of it.”

“Woolly subject,” Hermione put in.

“Lady Imbolc,” Draco said quite sharply, “is rather gifted with Tarot Cards. She was able to predict where her mother’s grave was when we were searching for it.”

Hermione snorted.

“Hermione,” Sirius Black warned, “the Kingsleys, her mother’s paternal family, have often been gifted in this field. It would be better not to insult it.” He looked at her pointedly.

They ended up in the sitting room, with some of the Weasleys playing exploding snap and the Weaslette, Hermione, Draco, and Imbolc playing piquet. “I wonder when we get our Hogwarts letters,” Imbolc said, opening the conversation. “Are you expecting a prefect’s badge, Hermione?”

“Yes,” she said, flipping back her hair. “You?”

“I’m top of my class,” she answered, “with Draco, of course.”

“We’re hoping to make Head Boy and Head Girl,” Draco said proudly. “We started campaigning last year.”

Hermione looked up. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Imbolc said quickly. “Just a pureblood turn of phrase.” She stared down Draco. “Now, tell me, Hermione, do Muggleborns court? I’ve never been quite certain on the subject.”

The Weaslette started coughing.

There were rather badly kept gardens in the back of the house, but Imbolc’s father took her back there just past four and Draco insisted on not being left with the “rabble.”

“How do you like the Malfoys?” Father asked.

“I love them,” she admitted. “They’re my family. I remember Mother taking me to visit Uncle Lucius, Aunt Narcissa, and Draco when I was small. After I was put in an orphanage when Mother died, it was Uncle Lucius who came and found me.”

“No one told me how Lux died,” Sirius said cautiously.

Imbolc stopped and glanced back at Draco who was inspecting a bush. “I—it was my fault,” she admitted. “Accidental magic. I breathed on a bird and its wing healed and it flew away. A muggle saw and he dragged me through the streets by my hair. Mother found him and put him under an unforgivable, I think. Some muggle saw and got scared and shot her through the head. It’s the worst memory of my life.”

“Oh, darling,” her father said, taking her face in his hands, “that was not your fault. You were just being a witch.”

“But she’s dead.” Imbolc didn’t even realize she was crying until her father wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

“That’s the muggle’s fault,” he stated emphatically. “No wonder you’re a blood purist.”

She laughed. “I hate muggles,” she admitted, “and muggleborns, and some half-bloods. I just hate anything touched by muggles. I can still hear that gun.” She closed her eyes in pain. “I thank the old gods Uncle Lucius found me and brought me back to Malfoy Manor.”

“Yes, although she was his niece, Lucius was only five years older than Lux,” Sirius told her. “She was like his little sister. He had more of a connection to her than he did to his older sister Madaleine, who was Lux’s mother.”

“She was a spy for the Dark Lord, did you know? She’s in Azkaban now.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” her father said darkly. “Although I loved your mother with my entire being, I’ve never trusted the Kingsleys or the Malfoys, for that matter.”

“You must not trust the Blacks either, then.”

“No, I don’t,” he agreed. “I was the white sheep of the family.”

Imbolc couldn’t help but giggle.

…

They lay in the grass on the front lawns of the manor. Quite unintentionally, both Draco and Imbolc had come downstairs wearing the pureblood fashion of black. Draco had now stripped off his jacket so he was only wearing a sleeveless turtleneck and Imbolc and taken off her outerdress so she would be more comfortable in the slight heat.

There was the rustle of wings and two owls settled near them. Another one headed straight for the manor. Immediately Draco and Imbolc had sat up and found their respective owl. As soon as their letters were untied, the owls had taken off into the blue sky.

The cousins stared at each other.

“I’m afraid,” Imbolc admitted.

“You got it, Immy. Although the Mudblood Granger will never admit it, you have the top marks in the entire year, except perhaps in Herbology.” She swatted at him and he laughed.

“And you? Isn’t Theodore Nott supposed to be clever?”

“True,” Draco agreed. “But he’s nothing remarkable. Ladies first.”

She bit her lip and looked down at the pouch. Carefully, she opened it and tipped it so that the badge would fall into her hand, if it was indeed in there. She closed her eyes tightly and then she felt the smooth metal. Opening her eyes, she screamed in delight and flung herself at Draco.

“This is just the first step,” she said excitedly. “We will be Head Boy and Girl,” she promised. “Now you, Draco.”

He smirked at her, and with much less fanfare retrieved his prefect’s badge. She threw herself into his arms yet again and gently kissed him, her hand running up through his blond hair. Their eyes locked and then she quickly drew away, looking down at her skirt. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “That was unfair.”

He traced the cusp of her ear. “No, thank you. It was a gift.”

Imbolc glanced back at him and they smiled at each other. “However will you manage with Quidditch?”

“I’ll manage,” he promised, “as long as you and Lacy are cheering for me.”

“As if there were any doubt,” she stated happily.

He lay back down in the grass and, after thinking about it for a moment, she lay down beside him, her head against his chest. His arm came up around her and she sighed in contentment.

“I could stay like this forever,” he admitted after ten minutes.

“Try having my hair,” she teased. “We pureblood ladies are thankful when we can take down our hair at the end of each day. There’s a reason why we take naps before balls and functions. It’s so we can take our hair down and give it a reprieve before forcing it back onto our heads.”

“Surely your creations are more comfortable than the usual styles?” he questioned.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I found them in a medieval book. Silly, perhaps, but it’s still following pureblood customs.”

“It makes you distinctive,” he said, his hand tracing her upper arm. “I find myself quite enchanted.”

“Not by Miss Weasley’s long strawberry blonde hair?” she asked, a little insecure.

“That blood traitor,” he sneered. “Only her family and her husband should see her hair.”

“But the color, Draco, the color.”

He lifted himself a little off of the ground and looked at her. Imbolc’s face was tucked in away from him, so he couldn’t see her emotions, but he sighed anyway. “It’s like dull fire,” he admitted. “Nothing like molten gold, which I’m quite partial to. Your hair is truly wondrous. I’ll deny this if you ever quote me, but your hair is more beautiful than Mother’s.”

“You flatter me.”

“I can compare your hair to any witch’s at Hogwarts and they’ll all be found wanting,” he told her truthfully. “I wonder where the color came from. Your grandfather perhaps?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I know Mother had my hair, but Grandmother Madeleine had white blonde hair like you and Uncle Lucius.”

“A mystery,” he murmured. His hands were now tracing her entwined strands.

“A mystery,” she agreed before falling to slumber.

It was Aunt Narcissa’s voice that brought her back to herself. “Draco, dinner was served fifteen minutes ago. This is also quite compromising since you aren’t courting.”

“We’ll be right in,” Draco promised, his hand still tracing her hair.

“You won’t even apologize?”

“I will never apologize for loving Imbolc,” he stated firmly.

She stirred and the conversation stopped.

“Immy,” Draco said. “It’s time for dinner.”

A chill had entered the air and she shivered. A hand shook her. “Imbolc, darling,” Aunt Narcissa said. “It’s time to wake up now. You need to share the news that you made prefect.”

Rousing herself, Imbolc gently pushed herself off of Draco. They smiled at each other.

“Let me get your overdress,” he said as he put on his robes. He offered his hand and she stood up, a little shakily at first, and then she was being dressed. Her envelope was pushed into her hands and she nodded in thanks.

“Not a word to your father about your—indiscretion,” Aunt Narcissa warned. “Just admit to Imbolc falling asleep and the fact that you didn’t want to leave her.”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco said dutifully. He looked over at Imbolc and smirked.

…

“You’ve found the tapestry then,” Imbolc said as she came into the room. A boy, who had clearly grown several inches over the summer, was looking at it with interest. He had a mop of black hair and broad shoulders. She was in no doubt that if he turned around, she would see green eyes, horn-rimmed glasses, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, not quite turning around.

“Here,” she said kindly. “Let me show you where I am and my missing cousin.”

She set her finger on Phineas Nigellus, then traced it down through Sirius II, then Arcturus, her Grandfather Orion, then her father Sirius III, then down to her.

“You’re Sirius’s daughter?” Green eyes met hers and she smiled at the sheer astonishment in them.

“Yes,” she answered simply. “My uncle has custody of me, but he allows visitation since Father has his own establishment which cannot be breached by the Ministry. I come here once a week with my cousin.” Imbolc smiled at him. “Now, here’s my missing cousin.” She pointed to Sirius again then up to Grandfather Orion, down to his second son Regulus and his daughter, who was listed only as “Lady of the House of Black.”

Harry had been staring at the tapestry quite closely but he then stood back. “Is that normal?”

“No,” she agreed. “We do know that Uncle Regulus married a French witch in secret before he died. Father doesn’t know who it is, nor does Aunt Narcissa. The tapestry won’t say, so we can’t know. There’s no other ‘Black’ at Hogwarts, so she’s not there. We assume she’s in France.”

“Aunt Narcissa?”

“Cousin Narcissa, technically,” she explained, “but she’s also married to my Uncle Lucius. They have custody of me.” She went back to Phineas Nigellus, down to Cygnus, then Pollux, then Cygnus II, before finally reaching Narcissa.

“Draco Malfoy?” Harry said in shock. “He’s your cousin?”

She nodded. “He’s about somewhere. Uncle Lucius only let’s me come if he accompanies me. He’s probably telling someone how worthless they are, knowing him.”

“But this is the Order of the Phoenix!”

“Doesn’t family just get confusing sometimes?” she laughed. “I believe my cousin Nymphadora Tonks is a member. We don’t speak to her, of course. Her mother, Andromeda, married a Muggleborn.” She pointed to the scorch mark on the tapestry.

“My mother’s a Muggleborn.” She’d clearly insulted him.

“You’re a Potter. You’re not a Black. Well, your cousin Charlus married a Black, but that’s a very distant connection.” She smiled at him.

His mouth flapped a bit, like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

“Did your friend Hermione Granger make prefect?” Imbolc knew she probably had, but it was polite to ask, and it seemed like Harry really needed help.

“Er—yes. So did I.”

“Really?” she asked politely. “I’ll have to judge when the right moment is to tell Draco. I don’t think you’re his favorite person. Oh, I’m Lady Imbolc Black.” She looked at him expectantly.

“Harry Potter,” he finally answered.

“Is ‘Harry’ a nickname or your actual name? I’ve always been curious. It’s the Ravenclaw in me.”

“I don’t use my legal name,” he admitted.

“All right,” she answered. “I—“

The door opened and Draco popped in. “Immy,” he said. “You’ll never guess who’s here.”

“The Minister of Magic.”

He smiled and shook his head. He caught sight of Potter and frowned. “No, Professor Snape. You know you’re his favorite Potions student.”

She blushed. “All right, I’m coming. Farewell!” she called to Harry before exiting the room.

Professor Snape was indeed there. He was talking to some wizard Imbolc only knew by sight, but when his eyes lit on her, they instantly brightened.

“Ah, my star pupil,” he said, motioning Imbolc closer. Hermione Granger was nearby and was clearly affronted. “Auror Shacklebolt, may I introduce the brightest in her year? Lady Imbolc Black.”

“Sirius’s daughter,” the man said happily. “Who was your mother? I never knew he was married until recently.”

“Lady Lux Kingsley,” she answered. At his blank look, she added, “She was the niece of the current Lord Malfoy.” 

His eyes brightened. “You come from two great houses, then.”

A witch with bubblegum hair came forward. “Careful,” Professor Snape whispered in her ear, and she nodded to show that she heard. 

“Wotcher,” the witch said. “I’m Auror Tonks.”

Draco blinked. “Nymphadora Tonks?” he qualified. “Andromeda’s daughter?”

“Yes. You are?”

He looked affronted. Professor Snape fortunately stepped in. “This is Heir Draco Malfoy.”

It was Sirius, however, who saved the day. “Tonks, what did you think—?” he asked, as he led her away. 

Imbolc let out a breath and looked over at Draco. He held out his hand to her, and she accepted it. He led her out of the room, and Imbolc noticed that several eyes followed them out. They ended up in the drawing room where Harry Potter was still lingering.

“That was close,” Draco admitted. “I never thought the blood traitor’s daughter would end up an Auror.”

“Did you see her hair? Forget the color, but what lady of good society would have it so short?”

Draco reached out and smoothed a twist that came near her ear. “How long is yours?” he whispered huskily.

She grinned. “You’ll never know unless you’re my husband,” she teased.

“Darling, what you do to me.”

She startled. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”

He caressed her cheek. “But not the last.”

Neither noticed the longing look in Harry Potter’s eyes.


	3. Part the Second

**Part the Second—**   
_We had a beautiful, magical, love affair; What is sad beautiful tragic love affair._   
**—“Sad, Beautiful, Tragic,” Taylor Swift**

Imbolc wasn’t sure why, especially given his usual security, but Harry Potter came along to the Black mausoleum. Draco was dressed in pureblood Black, Sirius in a brown corduroy suit, Potter in what are called jeans, and Imbolc in an Illyria dress.

They walked through a cemetery in the center of London. It was large and you couldn’t hear any traffic and they finally came to a large building. “Here it is,” Sirius said as he took out a rusted looking key and opened it. With a flick of his wand, the lights were ignited. Then there were two large walls of large square slabs that had names and dates emblazoned on them.

“This one,” Sirius said, pointing to one, “is my father, Orion. Here is Mother.” He pointed to another next to his. “This is me and this,” he showed another, “belongs to Lux.”

Imbolc looked around in curiosity. “Thoughts?” she asked Harry and Draco.

“I might be partial,” Draco admitted, “but I think she should be in nature, where her descendants can walk by her grave.”

“Her descendants won’t be there,” Imbolc argued.

Draco looked at her pointedly. “We don’t know that.”

Sirius was looking between them. “I thought you weren’t courting because I don’t approve.”

“My father has custody of Imbolc,” Draco snapped. “He’s the one who gets the say. And, no, we’re not technically courting.”

“You’re just close friends,” Sirius decided. He looked at Imbolc.

“Don’t look at me, Father,” she begged. “I have no idea what I feel about anything. I just got my father back. That’s enough to be getting on with, don’t you think?—Harry? What are your thoughts?”

“Well, I don’t like it in here,” he admitted. “But weren’t you two in love?” he asked Sirius. “Shouldn’t you be together in death?”

“That’s the winning argument, isn’t it?” Imbolc said sadly. “I don’t like it in here at all, so unless you decide, Father, that you want to be put to rest elsewhere, I guess we’ll move Mother here.”

Draco sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Well, I won’t end up here,” she promised him. “There’s no Black for me to marry, unless we count that Squib’s children. I don’t think they pass the blood purity test, though.” She placed a hand on his chest and looked into his gray eyes.

He covered her hand and smiled at her.

“Are you sure you’re not courting?” Sirius asked into the gloom. Harry must have been hanging around, possibly looking at the names and dates of the deceased.

“I offered,” Draco said testily. “The lady needs to decide.”

“Ah, limbo,” Sirius said knowledgably. “Lux kept me in that for months. I still don’t approve.”

“I don’t think you’d approve of any pureblood,” Imbolc noted as she moved away from Draco. “You’d find them all too—pure or something.”

“My best friend, James Potter, was a pureblood. I married a pureblood. I’m not against purebloods in theory. I’m against two individuals who are second cousins through the Blacks and first cousins once removed through the Malfoys.”

“You married your godsibling,” Draco reminded. “You needed a special dispensation from the Wizengamot as the relationship was considered so incestuous. Only the fact that Heiress Sirius’s uncle was Lord Malfoy and your father was Lord Black pushed it through.”

“What?” Harry asked in shock.

“It’s called ‘magical incest,’” Draco informed him.

“Draco!” Imbolc said angrily. “I would remind you I am the product of such a union.”

“I was merely reminding him that incestuous relationships exist in his own love life and he shouldn’t judge.”

She breathed out angrily. “The air is too tight in here. I’m ready to leave.” She walked out the door, leaving Sirius, Draco, and Harry behind.

It was Harry who found her first. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” she informed him quietly, “and I know why Draco said it. Still, Mother was always treated badly, especially as the wife of a Death Eater.” She sighed. “Nothing for it. A child of incest I will always be. I might make an incestuous marriage myself.”

“Don’t say that,” he said quietly, his hand reaching out until he brushed the length of her arm.

She looked over at him in shock, but he was blushing and looking away. Taking a deep breath, she murmured, “The honorable thing to do would be to express your interest to my uncle, Lord Malfoy.”

Harry looked at her sharply. “Not Sirius?”

Shaking her head, she looked out over the graveyard. “Father is not my guardian. He may or may not approve of a relationship, but he has no input as to the actual situation.”

“Did Malfoy ask?”

“I can only assume,” she declared. “He is not dishonorable. Are you honorable, Mr. Potter?”

“I thought wizards and witches just date.” He looked a little confused.

Draco came up during this last part. “Blood traitors, half-bloods, and Mudbloods do,” he informed. “True purebloods of standing would never suggest such a degrading activity.”

“If Harry wants to date,” Sirius said, coming up to the three of them. “Then he can date. His father James was a pureblood and he dated his mother.”

“I would remind you, Father, that to my knowledge Mrs. Potter was a Muggleborn.” She sighed. “I tire of this line of conversation. It reminds me of the fact that I am the Black heiress and am the richest witch in Britain.”

Harry looked at her strangely.

Sirius explained, “She’s richer than the Queen of England.”

“Muggle,” Draco hissed. “I can’t believe we’re technically her subjects.”

“Father,” Imbolc broke in as she walked through the graveyard pausing at the older stones to look at the names. Most of them were wizarding. She noticed there was a whole patch of Selwyns. “Do you plan on marrying again? It’s only that I wonder if I will continue the privilege of being the Black heiress.”

Draco looked at Sirius curiously. 

“Change your suit, does it?” he asked nastily, but at a harsh look from Imbolc, he swallowed. “If I am ever freed and were to marry again, I would take a contraceptive before the wedding.”

“Aren’t those painful and illegal?” Draco asked in shock.

“What does it do?” That was Harry. Someone really needed to take his education in hand.

“It ensures a wizard can father no children,” Imbolc whispered. “Would you truly do that, Father?”

He took her by the crook of the arm and turned her toward him. “Candlemas,” he said simply. “You are my only child by the love of my life. I couldn’t bear it if a child by some other woman other than Lux were to inherit my fortune.”

With tears in her eyes, she launched herself at her Father, and whispered, “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you.”

He held her just as tightly. “Only for you, sprite,” he promised. “You’re the light of my world.”

…

It was unusual for Imbolc to be called to see Uncle Lucius. Usually, she just spoke to Aunt Narcissa. However, here she was, alone, in his study, with both her aunt and uncle there.

She wished Draco were there so she could grab his hand and feel his support.

“Have I done something to displease you?” she began.

Narcissa came up to her and took both of her hands. “Of course not, darling Imbolc. Now, Lucius, some elven wine for our dear daughter. She’s shaking like a frightened unicorn who has just encountered its first maiden.”

The glass was produced and it was pressed into Imbolc’s hand. Another was passed to Aunt Narcissa and she motioned to the divan in front of the fireplace. It was far too warm to light it, but it was still comforting. Uncle Lucius came over with his glass of firewhiskey and sat in a high backed armchair. “Would you like to explain, dear?” he offered. “I really can’t wrap my mind around it.”

Aunt Narcissa nodded. Her hair was once again in a net, this time dark forest green, which contrasted well with her dark blonde hair. It wasn’t truly golden like Imbolc’s but it was still lovely. Little Iolanthe had inherited it. Lacerta, on the other hand, had her father’s platinum hair and his ice blue eyes.

“We understand that you’ve become acquainted with several individuals since you began visiting your father. Draco has described a troop of Gryffindors, the Weasleys, which is most disgraceful, and that Mudblood Hermione Granger. He also said that your father’s godson was now a member of the household.”

Imbolc looked down at her hands. “That is correct. He dresses horribly. You must believe me. I’ve been trying to decide how to approach Father about his wardrobe as he’s part of the Black household, but Harry has this ridiculous guard and isn’t allowed to leave.”

“So you have a fondness for the boy,” Uncle Lucius surmised.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” she admitted. “I find him the pleasantest company there, apart from Draco. Is that so wrong? I just pretend his mother wasn’t a Muggleborn and he’s quite easy to converse with.”

“And Mr. Potter?” It was Aunt Narcissa now. “Does he find you pleasant company?”

“I—he—he tried to comfort me,” she admitted him. “I told him to be honorable and to write Uncle Lucius. I didn’t know what else to do. If I said anything, Father would hear and be happy that I was receiving attention from someone other than Draco, Draco would have been offended, I don’t know how Harry would have felt, and I would have Apparated straight to my room and probably locked myself in there for a few days.” She said this all quickly, her eyes flicking between her aunt and uncle. “I did the right thing, didn’t I?”

“As an unattached young woman, you behaved beautifully,” Aunt Narcissa reassured. “Your uncle has received a letter from him.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he drawled. “The Potter boy wants to take you to the first Hogsmeade weekend.”

“But that’s a date!” she said in astonishment. “He knows the difference.”

“I shall refuse on those specific terms then,” Uncle Lucius promised. “And he’s a half-blood and currently anathema in society. We’ll try not to put that in writing in case the tides turn and it makes it into The Daily Prophet or some other publication.”

She took a sip of her wine for fortification. “May I ask, and I apologize if you see this as an aspersion of your character because that is not what is meant, Uncle Lucius, but is the Dark Lord really back?” Imbolc stared at her uncle and he took a long sip of his firewhiskey.

“I’ve told Draco and will give you the courtesy of the same answer. I trust that this will not go beyond this room. You may discuss it in private with Draco, if you like, but neither Lacy nor Io are to hear of it.”

She nodded.

“The Dark Lord is indeed back. He will be a guest at the Manor once you three leave for Hogwarts.”

“I see,” she chewed her lip. “There’s more.”

“We were to give reports, as you may imagine. It has been fourteen years, after all, child. I told the Dark Lord of you and how you are skilled at Divination and how you have received your mastery in it even though you are just fifteen years of age. He is interested in such a talent. The Dark Lord wonders if you might read for him.”

“He wouldn’t mark me,” she clarified.

“No,” Lucius agreed.

She nodded and sipped at her wine. “I would want you and Draco in the room. I don’t care if he wants privacy. Those are my conditions and if I cannot see, I refuse to be punished. The future is subjective and often fluid.”

Uncle Lucius inclined his head. “I will inform him.”

“This business with Harry Potter disturbs,” she finally admitted. “I know my father is a Muggle-lover, but still…”

“Yes, but he does have celebrity,” Aunt Narcissa stated.

“A line has been drawn in the sand,” Uncle Lucius reminded them. “We’re on one side, and Lord Black and Harry Potter are on the other. They may think that because Imbolc was born to Lord Black that she might be more liberal minded, but they forget her mother was a dark witch who delighted in the Unforgivables and she was raised by accused Death Eaters.”

“I pray he doesn’t mark Draco,” Imbolc mused over her wine. “If I marry him, I’d prefer his arms to be bare. I think. I’m assuming.” She took another sip.

Narcissa reached out and rubbed her temple. “This is perhaps a discussion for ladies and for when you accept Draco’s courting offer.”

Uncle Lucius looked at her perceptively. “The only thing holding her back is she’s afraid of the consanguinuity. Her parents and her paternal grandparents have given her a complex.”

“Lucius,” Narcissa hissed.

“You’ve seen them together. They act like a courting couple. It’s just not official. You know I considered this meeting a courtesy, as I will any subsequent meetings. Oh, Roland Vane has shown an interest.”

“Wasn’t he Head Boy last year?” she asked. “And a half-blood that was raised to a middle house by his stepfather?”

“That’s a negative then,” Uncle Lucius decided. “Madeleine married into one of the lower higher houses. There was no shame in it.”

“No,” Narcissa agreed. “I was also from an offshoot of the Blacks. My aunt might have been Lady Black but my father was a poor relation. I was nothing compared to the Black heiress.”

“I suppose the vultures will start circling,” she murmured unhappily.

“Not until your sixth and seventh year,” Uncle Lucius assured her. “One may start courting in fifth year in stricter houses, but most view it as rather young. I would give you as much time to consider Draco’s suit as you needed, you are my daughter in all but name, after all, but it helps that there are no outside pressures.”

Imbolc smiled at him.

“Now we just have to see if Harry Potter comes up with a counter offer. I wouldn’t be surprised if your father helps him if he hears of this little adventure Potter finds himself on.”

“May the old gods help me,” Imbolc sighed, squeezing her aunt’s hand. “Why aren’t we godsiblings?”

“Two reasons,” Uncle Lucius told her. “First of all, before Sirius went to Azkaban, there was still a great stigma concerning his marriage to his godsibling Lady Lux Kingsley, despite their magical dispensation. I know Lux didn’t want you in a similar situation. Also, James and Lily Potter greatly disapproved of Lux. She hinted that it had to do with the godsibling bond but also that she was a dark witch. They suspected her of being a spy. Lux refused to have them as godparents. One of the Prewett brothers was named as well as Amelia Bones, niece to Lord Bones. But you, of course, know that. You know your Aunt Amelia well and both Prewett brothers died.”

Imbolc hummed and finished her drink. Narcissa put down their glasses and pulled her into a hug. “I know it’s hard,” she murmured, “growing into a woman when you’re still partially a child. Just enjoy your time with Draco. It’s all I can suggest.”

“Yes, Aunt,” she murmured, burying her face into her aunt’s shoulder and breathing in her familiar scent.

…

The Dark Lord swept into the house when Imbolc was least expecting it. She was at her correspondence again. She had made many friends with the French delegation in the Triwizard Tournament and she saw it as an excellent excuse for practicing her French. She also had the chance to ask about a ‘Black’ and one of the witches thought there might have been one in the lower years, but she couldn’t be certain.

Narcissa walked into the drawing room followed by Draco. “Imbolc, dear. Go get your cards and your crystal ball and then go with your cousin. You’re needed.”

Imbolc looked at her and then understanding washed over her. She moved to her aunt and whispered, “Am I dressed appropriately?”

Moving a step or two away, Aunt Narcissa took her in. Imbolc was wearing periwinkle robes edged in white and her hair was in three twists that came together at her mid-shoulders. “You look every inch the pureblood lady,” she announced. “Now, don’t keep our guest waiting.”

Draco held out his hand and Imbolc took it. “You’re wearing the scent I bought you,” he murmured as they went up two flights of steps to the family wing.

“Of course I am,” she responded. “You know how much I love jasmine, and when my last one was discontinued…” She sighed. “Wherever did you get this one?”

“I have a few contacts from Durmstrang,” he answered, a smirk playing on his lips. “I merely got a scent catalogue from Vienna from one and placed my order. I thought you deserved something a little special for making prefect.”

“Oh! But I didn’t get you anything,” she fretted.

“Your very presence is enough,” he said romantically, squeezing her hand. 

She rested her head on his shoulder for a few moments before he showed her to her doors. Although they were closely related, they weren’t technically siblings, so he wasn’t allowed in her rooms. Imbolc walked in and found a periwinkle ribbon and she quickly threaded it through her hair so that it showed just near her hairline. Nodding to herself, she collected her deck and her crystal ball and stand.

“Be helpful,” she joked as she handed the ball and stand to Draco. No one could touch her cards. It would be sacrilege. They could only have her energy. She slipped her hand through the crook in his arm and they walked down toward the smoking room, much to her surprise. 

She knocked and when she was bid to enter, she fluidly walked in, Draco a few steps behind her.

There was a man with his back to her. He was wearing black robes and had skin so white it was almost translucent. He held his wand in pianist fingers and then he turned.

His nose was gone as well as his lips. Intelligent red eyes shone from his snake face and his head was completely without hair.

She curtsied low. “My lord,” she intoned. She kept her eyes lowered and waited until he touched her shoulder to rise. She ascended and then smiled at her uncle.

“I understand you are a mistress of the cards,” the Dark Lord spoke. His voice was haunting, attractive.

She nodded. 

He motioned to a table. “I wish to know when my presence will become known.”

“Apart from the fact that Dumbledore and Harry Potter are proclaiming it as such?” Uncle Lucius gave her a warning look, but she continued. “Could you sate my curiosity? Why was Potter cut on his arm? I’ve seen the scar and it is quite—unappealing.” She took out the cards and shuffled them. She heard Draco place the crystal ball somewhere else in the room.

“It was a ritual,” the Dark Lord explained. “I needed his blood.”

“A dark ritual then,” she surmised, cutting the cards once and then again. “Uncle Lucius says we’re too young to attempt them. So much can go wrong, apparently.”

“I said when you were sixteen, Imbolc. Surely you can wait a year.” 

She looked up at him and gave Draco a winning smile. Turning back to the Dark Lord she lay out a three card spread. “Tell me, do you have a spy within the Order of the Phoenix, because even I can figure out who it is?”

Draco coughed.

“Perhaps that is how I like it, Lady Imbolc.”

“Grandmother Madeleine was a spy,” she said, though he probably already knew this. “She’s in Azkaban. Mother was, of course, accused as well.” She tapped the first card. “You’re free,” she told him, “which is apparent. Now you’re planning.” She moved the second card forward before she came to the third card. “A battle,” she murmured. “You can’t get out in time and you’re seen.”

He looked at her, fascinated.

She swiped the cards away and flipped over a card from the deck. “Yes,” she murmured. “Somewhere dark.”

Another card went down. “I—“ She looked up to Draco. “Why would you go there?” she questioned.

“Where?” the Dark Lord asked.

“The Ministry of Magic. Somewhere secret there, but it’s definitely the ministry. I think it’s a trap.” 

She turned over the next card to the wise man. “Dumbledore,” she breathed. “He keeps you there so you can be seen. How—Slytherin of him. Wasn’t he a Gryffindor?”

Uncle Lucius nodded.

“Shameful,” she murmured. “You know, Professor Flitwick’s been there longer than McGonagall and yet she’s Deputy Headmistress? What’s so wrong with having a Ravenclaw Headmaster?” She sighed out and turned back to the Dark Lord who was assessing her.

“Not even my lieutenants know my interest in the Ministry,” he confided. “Tell me, if I could get you a prophecy, would you be able to interpret it, Lady Imbolc?”

She thought for a moment. “I’ve never tried,” she admitted, “but I don’t see why not. It’s just another means of seeing the future.”

“Tell me, is it a gift through the Malfoys or the Blacks?”

“The Kingsleys,” she admitted. “It hasn’t surfaced in several centuries, but a great-great-great aunt had the sight.” Imbolc smiled at him. “I am fortunate that Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa have nurtured the talent.”

“I am very much pleased,” he stated. “You and your cousin may go. I must speak with Lord Malfoy alone.” He took her hand and lifted it to just beneath his lips per pureblood custom before releasing it. Draco tracked the movement with his eyes before picking up the crystal ball. Imbolc gathered her cards.

Once they were far enough away, Draco dragged her into a room. “What?” she demanded, but he’d already put down the crystal ball and was holding her close to him.

“I don’t like how he was looking at you,” he admitted.

“I’m just an oddity,” she sighed as her hands came around his back. “That’s all. You know I’m hailed by the Unspeakables as one of the strongest Clairvoyants in the past several centuries.”

“I know,” he agreed, his face pressed into her shoulder. “I just—I never want to share you.”

She laughed at this. “You know I have friends and will have other admirers. You must share me with the wizarding world, Draco.”

“I know,” he murmured, “it doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

He picked her up and swung her about the room, so much so that she laughed.

…

She was once again in Uncle Lucius’s study. Aunt Narcissa had given her firewhiskey of all things. Sipping at it, the liquid burned her throat and she coughed and gasped.

“You’ll get used to it,” she promised. “Just keep on sipping it gently.”

“But why? I don’t understand.”

“We have—unusual news,” Uncle Lucius said, looking at her. “You made quite an impression on the Dark Lord.”

“Yes, he told me so.” She nodded and tried to take another sip of her drink. It made her cough again.

“He has requested that you become his magical ward,” Uncle Lucius said carefully. “All courtship requests must go through him.”

“Absolutely not!” she cried. “That’s the most ridiculous—“ she stopped. “He’s approved someone.”

“Only Draco,” Uncle Lucius told her. “As soon as we found out, we put in a petition so that some horrible Death Eater who’s old enough to be your grandfather doesn’t get ahold of you or your fortune.”

“Draco,” she repeated. “But I thought you were giving me time.”

“And Draco will give it to you,” Uncle Lucius promised. “The courtship can be in name only for as long as you want. You care for Draco deeply.”

“He’s my best friend!” she insisted. “I—how could he—how could you—“ She threw down her glass and hurried from the study. Imbolc ran past Draco at one point and she didn’t stop to speak to him. She would probably end up screaming. Instead she threw herself on her bed and started weeping.


	4. Part the Third

**Part the Third—** _  
“As far as I’m concerned, You’re just another picture to burn.”_ **  
—“Picture to Burn,” Taylor Swift**

Imbolc knew the house elves could do it. Of course, she did. However, she felt calmed among the Abraxans. She was wearing a leather robe that was a season old and, thus, couldn’t be seen in society, and was just brushing her favorite Pegasus, Britannia.

“Immy,” Draco’s familiar voice sounded from outside the stall, but she ignored him. Instead, she kept on brushing Britannia. “Immy, don’t do this,” he begged, opening the stall door and coming in. He petted Britannia’s neck and tried to peak over her at Imbolc. He sighed when she didn’t turn toward him and instead ducked to brush her lower body. “I won’t apologize,” he said quietly, but not quiet enough for her not to hear him. “I’ll never apologize for loving you.”

“Then why did you do it?” she asked, her voice just as soft.

“I shouldn’t tell you this, but the Dark Lord has plans to break out his Death Eaters from Azkaban. Father and I couldn’t bear for you to be given as a prize to one of them. They go insane in there, Immy. You know that. Your father’s not all there. I’ve heard him call you ‘Lux’ and Potter ‘James.’”

She sighed. It was true, after all. Standing, she looked over at Draco. “Then what are we to do?”

“We continue as we are,” he stated solemnly. “You know we’re unusually close, Imbolc.” She made to speak, but he cut her off. “Don’t deny it. Don’t deny what we have. And we can keep it that way, going at the pace you want. I would never hurt you, Immy.”

“No one else calls me that,” she laughed. “Not even little Io.”

“I might have threatened everyone when I was about six,” he admitted.

“Oh really, Heir Draco?” she laughed. “How terribly petulant of you.”

“It was worth it.” He smirked at her. “Now Mother wants to take us to Diagon Alley tomorrow. She says you need your Fall wardrobe. Apparently Cousin Sirius is demanding that he fund it. I don’t think he realizes the price of robes or the number Malfoy women require.”

Imbolc glared at him. “Really, Draco. I know you like to show off the womenfolk of your household to the best advantage.”

“Never said that I didn’t,” he declared. “Oh, I just thought of a wonderful angle this puts on everything.”

“The courtship?” She was now exiting the stall and he held the door open for her. He took her hand and raised it to just beneath his lips and they smiled at each other.

“Parkinson. I can tell her she can never be my future bride as I’ve already chosen one.” The same smirk was on his face and Imbolc laughed.

“I can’t believe you took her to the Yule Ball.”

“You wouldn’t come with me,” he said petulantly. “You had to go with that French wizard. Whoever he was.”

“Armand,” she supplied. “You’ll also remember that I spent half the night ignoring him and dancing with you.”

“Our first of many dancing occasions,” he promised. They were now walking across the lawns, white peacocks everywhere.

She paused. “Draco,” she began. “I’m not saying I’m going to marry you, but if I do, I don’t want the Dark Mark on your arm. Aunt Narcissa said it’s attractive as it shows how powerful Uncle Lucius is, but I’d rather you not…”

“You realize I may not have a choice,” he told her, taking her into his arms. She was looking down at her hands, which she was wringing.

“I know,” she whispered, “but if you can help it, I’d rather you didn’t.”

He kissed the top of her head and drew her against him until her head was resting against his clavicle. “I promise you, Immy. I’ll try not to.”

“That’s all I can ask,” she murmured before she closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. It was a heady combination of Abraxan and summer sunlight. 

…

This time she found herself in Sirius’s office. He was holding up a piece of parchment. “Harry received this Tuesday,” he declared.

Imbolc just looked at him blankly. “You’re going to have to tell me what it says, Father. I’m not privy to Harry Potter’s correspondence.”

“It’s from your uncle,” he said, slamming it down. “It informs Harry that his second request to take you walking along the edge of the Black Lake is denied because you are currently engaged in another courtship. I thought you said that you and the Malfoy whelp were not courting.”

“We weren’t,” she said truthfully. “It happened quite suddenly.”

He stared at her.

“I can’t live without him,” she answered truthfully. “I’m sure you know what that feels like. However, it’s the truth. He’s my second half. Why deny a courtship when we’re constantly breaking propriety when we’re together?” She took a deep breath. That was a difficult speech to give, even though she realized she hadn’t lied at all.

“Breaking how? Do I have to kill him?” Sirius’s voice was as black as his name.

She laughed. “We’ll be outside on the grounds and I’ll fall asleep in his arms. When we got our prefect badges, I kissed him. You must notice we always hold hands, which is certainly suspect.”

Sirius sighed. “Well, you come by consanguinuity honestly,” he stated. “At least you’re first cousins once removed. That helps. You won’t need a magical dispensation. You’re certainly a handsome couple, handsomer than Lucius and Narcissa.”

“If you talk about children, I warn you that I’ll walk out of this room. I’m too young for such discussions.”

He looked at her. “Well, at least you weren’t brought up to be a goddamn society breeder.” He sighed. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”

“I know,” she responded quietly. “However, it is what it is. Just accept it, Father, and try to be happy for us. Please.—How was Harry Potter’s trial? I forgot to ask last time.”

“Full pardon,” Sirius said happily. “That’s my boy!”

“Yes,” she said carefully. Imbolc didn’t like the closeness between her own father and his godson. He’d known he was an innocent man and had been in contact with him for a full year before Sirius had arrived at Malfoy Manor.

Draco was waiting for her and she accepted his arm. “Unhappy?”

“Harry Potter sent another petition and it was denied on the grounds of our courtship,” she explained as they headed to the drawing room. “Thank the old gods, he doesn’t have the political capital he did this time last year, otherwise it would be a public relations nightmare if it got out. Being the son of Lord Malfoy and the Black heiress would barely save us.” 

“Well, at least they didn’t have to go into the other reasons,” Draco pointed out and they both laughed quietly. “I have something for you.” They opened the door and found the motley crew cleaning for some reason. “Oh good, witnesses.”

“What?” she asked, but he was clapping his hands and having everyone form a circle around them.

“Now,” he stated, “for those around you who aren’t accustomed with pureblood traditions, when a wizard enters a courtship, he gives his lady a ring to symbolize the forming union.” From his breast pocket he took a silver ring that was in the form of a crown. “For the royal status of our two houses,” he whispered before he slipped it onto her left middle finger.

She looked at him in awe before glancing down at the ring. It nestled perfectly. Raising her hand to admire it, Imbolc smiled before launching herself in Draco’s arms. She kissed him chastely, her hands holding his head while his came around her waist. “It’s perfect,” she declared as she pulled away. Turning toward a confused looking Hermione and Ginny, she showed off her ring.

Draco looked on happily.

Imbolc turned in surprise when she heard something thump to the floor. She saw Harry standing over Draco, who was clutching his nose. “How dare you!” she whispered. “Behaving like a common Muggle in the House of Black—and punching my courted! This is a time of celebration!”

Harry, however, did something completely unexpected. He grabbed her by the upper shoulders and kissed her. She stood rigid until he was suddenly gone. It appeared Draco had tackled him.

“I’m Apparating home,” she announced. “I don’t care if it’s only two-thirty!” She stepped on Harry’s hand, he was still struggling with Draco, and they instantly stopped. “Draco, do you require medical assistance from St. Mungo’s?”

“Where?” Hermione asked, but Imbolc didn’t pay attention to her.

“No. I think Mother can fix me up.”

Imbolc produced a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to him. She turned to Harry and stated angrily, “If you’ve done anything to his handsome profile, you’ll have the Black heiress to answer to.”

Draco stood up beside her and took the crook of her arm with his free hand. They swept out of the room.

Sirius was just coming up and he startled at Draco’s appearance. “Blame Harry Potter,” Imbolc told him. “He kissed me after Draco gave me the courtship ring.”

“By the old gods,” he murmured and rushed past them.

Imbolc sighed. “I think he prefers the blood traitor to me. I’ve been nothing but polite and congenial.”

“Let him have his precious Potter. He’s not in succession for the title or for your fortune. He also didn’t have a mother who was willing to cast an Unforgivable curse to save him.”

“True,” she murmured as they walked out the door toward a nearby alley. “I’ll Apparate. I’m less likely to splinch us.”

…

“He what?” Uncle Lucius demanded when he saw the two of them not half an hour later. 

“He kissed me. It wasn’t pleasant. Isn’t it supposed to be pleasant?” she asked.

“And Lord Black just let you leave, without any concern to your well-being?” Lucius looked murderous.

“He was more concerned with Potter,” Draco confided. “I was just glad to get out of there. I’ve never been attacked by someone acting like a common Muggle. I cannot bear the insult to me or my lady.”

“I’ll have Severus deliver a letter,” Lucius stated. “Go see your mother, Draco. And I’m sorry your moment was ruined, Imbolc, darling. I’m sure the girls will be happy to see your ring.”

Imbolc smiled at him weakly.

…

They didn’t go back to Grimmauld Place. According to Uncle Lucius, it was due to gross negligence on the part of Sirius Black. Imbolc couldn’t really argue with that.

However, she was surprised to receive an owl from Harry Potter the night before she went to Hogwarts. Minxie, the house elf she shared with Lacerta, had packed her trunk and she was sitting in her nightgown petting her cat Valentinus. It was a silly name for a cat, especially a calico one, but it seemed to suit.

She looked at the snowy white owl and took the package from it. Opening it up, she found a beautiful white leather diary with her name imprinted on it: Imbolc Luciana Black: 1995-1996. A little card fell out of it. “My deepest apologies—HP.”

Glancing at the owl, who was waiting, she wasn’t quite sure what to do. Harry Potter technically hadn’t broken any rules by sending her the gift. She found her blue and purple oriental dressing gown and put her hair down in a loose bun. There was only one place to find Uncle Lucius at this time of night and she was loath to bother him, but she needed advice. Also, the owl wasn’t going away.

She knocked on her aunt and uncle’s bedroom door and waited. Narcissa was the first to appear, dressed in what Imbolc assumed was a negligee, and she put a hand on Imbolc’s shoulder. “Is everything all right?”

“I got this owl—from Harry Potter. I don’t know what to do. The owl won’t go away.” She gave a weak smile.

“Go to the drawing room. Your uncle will meet you there.”

Imbolc only had a few minutes to wait before her uncle appeared in a set of pajamas and a dark blue dressing gown. His hair was down about his shoulders. She handed him the journal and the note. “What do I do?”

He read the note for several long moments. “Do you accept his apology?”

“It’s rather elegant,” she admitted. “He must have seen me in class, too, because I favor this exact type of journal for my class notes.”

“Do you have one for this year?”

“Of course,” she replied. “Sometimes I need two, though.”

“And he just gave you a second,” Uncle Lucius mused. “Does this make up for his insult to you?”

“You mean to the House of Malfoy.”

“Forget that. We’re talking about you personally and Harry Potter.” He looked at her with steely blue eyes.

She hesitated. “No. It helps, but no.”

He nodded. “I would accept the gift but write him a note about how this does little to make amends. Make him understand how grossly he insulted you according to pureblood protocol. Are you awake enough to write it tonight?”

Imbolc nodded.

“Very well then.” He kissed the top of her hair. “Be seen to be using this exact book, so that he can see that you do accept it. If Draco asks about it, you can simply tell him it was an apology unless you fully wish to explain. It’s for you to decide, my dear.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Uncle Lucius.”

“That’s what I’m here for, my little flame,” he said, giving her a hug. “Now, go write that letter. I’m sure the whelp’s waiting for it.”

When Imbolc got back to her room, she opened up her trunk and placed the journal on top. She traced her name and wondered at it. Going to her desk, she took out a piece of monogrammed paper and began her letter. It was finished by eleven, and he should get it by two in the morning, if he were waiting up for it. If not, he would be able to read it in the morning.

…

She had the journal open on her desk. Imbolc favored peacock feathers, which created an interesting contrast with the white leather.

“Miss Black,” Professor Umbridge called, and Imbolc immediately stood.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Tell us about You-Know-Who.”

She looked around her at the whispering students. “I beg your pardon, but I’m not certain as to what you mean.”

“Your father is a well-known Death Eater at large. Surely, he must have told you whether You-Know-Who is back.”

Umbridge looked maliciously at Harry.

“I’m sorry to disappoint but my father was put in Azkaban when I was about a year old, and he hasn’t owled me about anything, including the Dark Lord, since he escaped.”

“I find that surprising,” Umbridge said. “He got a special dispensation to marry your mother. He supposedly loved her and you, by extension. You would have been a bastard, otherwise.”

Harry’s hand shot up.

“Yes, Mr. Potter.”

He carefully stood up. “I would like to remind you that Lady Imbolc is the adopted daughter of Lord Malfoy, who I believe is a close friend of the Minister of Magic.” He then sat down again. He peeked a look at her but she resolutely stared ahead.

The woman looked flustered. “That will be enough, Miss Black. I have no more questions.”

When they were outside of class, Draco was waiting for her. “You look white as a ghost,” he said, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“She—she practically called me a bastard—“

Draco’s jaw clenched. “I’ll write Father. We’ll have this sorted.”

“It was only Harry Potter who made her stop. He reminded her of how close I was to the Malfoys and how Uncle’s good friends with Fudge. By the old gods.” Tears started leaking out of her eyes, and Draco drew her to him. 

“I’m here,” he comforted, as she clenched his robe in her hands. “I’m here. I’m always here.”

“Hem. Hem.”

Draco and Imbolc pulled away only to see a flash of pink in the form of the Defense Professor.

“Just who I wanted to see. Miss Black. Mr. Malfoy. If you could join me.”

They looked at each other before Draco beckoned for her to enter first. Umbridge settled behind her desk and then looked between the two of them. “I hope—Hem. Hem.—that there has been no misunderstanding. I apologize for inquiring into whether or not Miss Black knew of You-Know-Who’s return because her father is an escaped Death Eater.”

“And the bit where you suggested she was a bastard?” Draco stated boldly.

Umbridge looked a little lost. “Another unfortunate turn of phrase. Hem. Hem.”

Imbolc just stared at her.

“The Minister values Lord Malfoy and his family,” Umbridge stated, “including the two of you.”

“Immy?” Draco asked.

“You decide,” she said quietly.

“You will forgive us if we seek counsel from my father,” Draco said politely. “Lady Imbolc is very dear to him.”

Umbridge pursed her lips. “If you must.” She waved them away.

Draco offered his arm and Imbolc took it thankfully. “Charms?” he offered. “You know how much you like Flitwick.”

“True,” she answered. “Thank you for being my dragon.”

He smirked down at her. “What else am I for?” he asked her rhetorically. “My heart is as black as a Black’s.”

She paused and looked at him. “Are you saying?”

His gray eyes looked at her earnestly.

“I see,” she murmured before they continued on their journey.

…

She found him during her rounds. He was sitting on a moving staircase, looking at his hand. Imbolc came toward him and smiled. “You’re a prefect. You should know not to be out after curfew.”

“Detention with Umbridge,” he offered with no hint of a smile. “I’m sorry for what she did to you.”

“She tried to back pedal,” she answered smoothly. “I let Draco decide what to do and he told her he was writing Uncle Lucius.”

“Hopefully she’ll leave.” He looked down at his hand.

“By the old gods!” she shouted before taking his hand in hers. “That’s a blood quill!” On his hand were written the words: I must not tell lies. “At least it’s not a command, otherwise you actually wouldn’t be able to tell lies.—Come with me.”

They wandered down the halls toward the basement. “Where exactly are we going?”

“To see my favorite professor,” she answered, as if that explained everything. “Thank you for the journal, by the way. I’ve never had white before.”

“I didn’t think you had,” Harry answered.

She nodded until she came to a set of doors and she knocked. There was a rustle of robes and then they were opened to reveal Snape. She smiled. “We have a blood quill problem.”

He looked down at her in shock.

“Yes, of course I’m going to write Uncle Lucius. I’m not Draco who delights in seeing his enemies falter in the battle of life.” She ushered Harry forward. “Can you help him?”

“The hand,” Severus intoned and Harry held it out. “I understand you broke pureblood protocol and kissed a maiden who was already courting.”

“I—how—“ He looked back at Imbolc accusingly.

“Lord Malfoy was very irate. I doubt there are many in his circle of associates who don’t know of the detail in some form or another.—I am surprised at you, Imbolc, for helping Potter of all people given your history.”

“He helped me against Umbridge,” she admitted.

“Another story, I am sure, for a later time. Perhaps you and the two Malfoys can come for sherry?” He took out a purple salve and rubbed it into the skin. “If this happens again, have Lady Imbolc bring you down. I suppose I may help you if you come alone.”

“Right,” Harry said, accepting back his hand. “Thanks, professor.”

Severus was gone with a whirl of his robes.

“Now I’m in your debt again,” Harry said as they made their way up towards the towers. Imbolc supposed that the Gryffindors must live in a tower like the Ravenclaws did. “I was so trying to make up for everything.”

“Did Father lecture you?” she asked seriously.

“He explained the sanctity of courtships. Here’s the thing, though.” He stopped and looked at her. “I know I’m not a pureblood and I was brought up with Muggles. I also happen to hate Draco Malfoy. However, I’m almost certain you don’t want to court him, and that I might actually have a shot with you.”

“You tread dangerously, Mr. Potter,” she warned, but he put up a finger and placed it on her lips.

“I’ll woo you,” he promised. “It’s how my dad got my mum.”

“I am an heiress, not a Muggleborn.”

“You’re human,” he countered. “Whatever word you want to put on it, we’re all ultimately the same.”

She took a deep breath. “My mother was shot before my eyes when I was five by a filthy Muggle. We’re not all the same. How dare you presume—?”

But then he’d reached forward, his good hand behind her neck, and his lips barely whispered over hers. It felt—pleasant—and Imbolc hated herself for it. For a moment, she kept her hands out to her side until suddenly she slapped him.

He jerked away in shock.

“How many times must you be told?” she demanded. “I am a pureblood lady who’s engaged in a courtship. Since Father can’t make you see sense, I’ll be reporting you to Professor Snape. You’ll have to listen to him.”

“Imbolc,” he began, holding his hand to his cheek.

“We may have been on familiar terms this summer because you are my father’s godson, but here we’re at school. I am ‘Miss Black’ in class, and simply ‘Black’ or ‘Lady Imbolc’ outside of it. Do I make myself clear?”

His eyes hardened. “I’m not giving up on you.”

“Well, you certainly have a lot to apologize for. Now I’ll have to decide whether or not to keep the journal given the second insult to my person.”

“Imbolc,” he paused, “Lady Imbolc, it’s not like I’m trying to force myself on you.” His black hair parted to show his angry scar and she wondered, when the Killing Curse hit it, if it had glowed green. She wondered if she could ask the Dark Lord, or if that really would be a little too impertinent.

She deflated. “Can’t you see that’s exactly what you’re doing? A courtship is like an engagement that lasts several years before an official engagement is announced. You’re dishonoring me and my future husband, and I don’t care how much you hate Malfoy. You should at least have respect for me as Sirius’s daughter.”

He took her hand. “Please,” he said. “Give me a chance.”

“You know I can’t,” she murmured, before withdrawing her hand and heading up the stairs, patrol forgotten.

The white owl came for her again, and she was utterly startled. It was carrying a thin package, which had a simple note: Some pictures of your father—HP.

She tore the envelope open and, indeed, found pictures of Sirius. However, he was at the Potter’s wedding, or holding an infant Harry. She did not feature in any of these pictures. Nor did her mother.

Not thinking of the consequences, she slipped out of the tower and made her way back to the dungeons, pictures in hand. It took her awhile to get into the Slytherin common room, but she managed it after twenty minutes and she looked around for Draco. She couldn’t see him anywhere.

“You,” she called to a young boy. “Fifth year boys dorm.”

He looked at her, a little afraid.

She brandished her prefect’s badge and he pointed at a staircase that spiraled downward. Looking at the plaques on the door, she found the one for fifth years. She knocked on it three times. “Lady entering!” she called, before opening the door and waltzing in.

Looking around, she found some boys in their pajamas, others in uniform, others in a strange combination.

“Oh, Draco,” she murmured, rushing over to him and throwing her arms around his neck. “He’s horrible. He kissed me again after I helped him with something, doesn’t matter what, and then sent these as an apology.”

Draco looked at her in confusion. It was the first time she’d seen him in his silk pajamas that she knew he owned, since she was there when he picked them out, and a dressing gown she’d never seen before. His hair was gorgeously mussed. “Immy,” he greeted, picking up the photographs and going through them one by one. “They’re of Lord Black.”

“But where’s Mother?” she demanded. “He sent me pictures that don’t have my shameful and incestuous mother!” Imbolc was back in his arms again and he stroked her hair as she cried.

“We’ll make him pay,” he swore to her. “We won’t let this stand.”


	5. Part the Fourth

**Part the Fourth—** __  
I’ve been spending the last eight months, Thinking all love ever seems does is break and burn and end, But on a Wednesday in a café, I watched it begin again.  
**—“Begin Again,” Taylor Swift”  
**

Imbolc was in the library with Lacerta. She was a third year and had decided to take Creatures and Ancient Runes just as her brother had. Lacerta didn’t favor Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid, of course, which is why they were searching for information on hippogriffs. Normally, Draco would help, but he had such a hatred for the creatures, that Imbolc had volunteered her time.

Hermione walked over, brushing her hair over her shoulders and sat across from them.

“Granger,” she greeted. “Is this about prefect duties because I’m afraid I’m helping my cousin at the moment and we can address it at our weekly meeting tomorrow.”

“It’s Harry,” she said simply, and Imbolc looked up.

“Lacy,” she said quietly. “I need to talk to Granger privately. Could you perhaps take your book and sit with your other friends in Slytherin?”

Looking up at her with ice blue eyes, she nodded. “Promise to tell Draco?” she asked innocently.

“You know we tell each other everything. We have since we were small children,” she assured. Running a hand through Lacerta’s hair, she smiled at her. “Now, off you go, little magician, before the fairies come and get you!”

They shared a secret smile before Lacerta picked up her books and joined a table of Slytherin girls. Imbolc turned to Hermione.

“I’d rather you not tell Malfoy,” she began.

“I’m afraid I can’t promise that. Draco, long before we began courting, was my dearest childhood friend. We have very few secrets from each other. The most important I can think of is what I’m planning to get him for Yule.” She smirked. “You can see how it’s hopeless.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “Harry’s rather upset.”

“I would imagine so,” Imbolc reasoned. “I was perfectly clear in my last owl to him.”

“Did you have to tear all the pages out of that diary and then black out the faces of his parents in the photographs? It seems a bit extreme.” That had been rather inventive. Imbolc and Draco had sat on his bed and defaced the pictures together before calling for his owl, Proserpine, and sending them off to Gryffindor Tower.

“No more extreme than sending me photographs that suggest that my mother is not worth being a part of them. Is he saying she’s not good enough? That she’s a seductress who lured Father into an incestuous relationship? Honestly, I couldn’t quite determine the message, but I wanted to assure him that I thought as little of his parents as he thought of my mother.”

Hermione reared back, shocked. “Is that what this is about, your mother?”

Imbolc inclined his head. “That and he insulted my person yet again. Really, as soon as Professor Snape can get detention with him, he will have to sit through a long lecture as to how sacred courtships are.”

“I don’t understand them, to be honest,” Hermione admitted, sitting back. “May I see your ring again?”

Holding out her hand, Imbolc displayed the ring. She was only permitted to wear it at Hogwarts because she was in a courtship, otherwise jewelry was strictly prohibited.

“Why silver and not gold like your hair?” Hermione asked, not taking her eyes off the ring.

“The Blacks favor silver,” Imbolc told her. “Draco’s recognizing my heritage outside of the Malfoy family. It’s quite romantic—if Potter hadn’t ruined it by punching Draco in the face. That Weasley girl fancies him, doesn’t she?”

The two prefects looked at each other, knowledge passing between them before Hermione nodded.

“I thought so. It was rather obvious. If he prefers purebloods from ancient families, I’m afraid she doesn’t have as much chance as a mermaid out of water.” She lapsed into silence. “Surely there must be someone else we can remind him of.”

“You really don’t want him, do you?”

“Why would I want a half-blood?” she asked honestly. “No. The idea is ludicrous.”

Hermione looked hurt. Still, she soldiered on. “He’s trying the best he can with a situation he doesn’t understand. Sirius tried to help, but he just confused Harry more. Half the time he was congratulating him on his Marauding instincts.”

Imbolc nearly rolled her eyes but her breeding stopped her. “I hate the Marauders,” she confessed. “From what I hear, the Potters didn’t even invite Mother to their wedding or Potter’s baptism. It’s deplorable. If that’s what friendship brings you, then I wouldn’t want it. And Lupin—all he cared about was Potter because my mother was a ‘dark witch.’ It’s all disgusting. I really should have been sorted into Slytherin. I would have been much more at home there.”

“I don’t think you would have,” Hermione said perceptively. “I know I’m not top of my class. I know I battle for second place with Malfoy, but you take first in every subject. I think you’re exactly where you belong.”

There was a long pause in the conversation.

“Well, Harry did research,” she said. “If you don’t want them, give them to your friends in Ravenclaw. He just asks that you don’t throw them away.” She went into her bag and produced a small box.

Hesitantly, Imbolc picked it up. A little note fluttered to the side but she didn’t pick it up at first. The box held four chocolates and when she breathed in she smelled, “Rose water.”

“He tried to find Jasmine, once I told him that’s what you wore, but that didn’t quite work out. So he settled on rose water.” Hermione smiled at her.

Imbolc set the box down on the table. “I can’t accept these.”

“Of course you can,” Hermione reasoned. “They’re from your father’s godson. It’s only natural that you be friends. Isn’t that right, Malfoy?”

Turning, Imbolc saw Draco who was looking stonily at the chocolates. After a moment, he picked up the note and quickly read it. “No,” he stated. “This insult will not stand.”

The note was simple as always. If it had come from anyone else it would have been romantic. “Because your lips are as sweet as roses.—HP.”

…

They stood in front of Professor Snape’s desk, the chocolates and the note on it. Severus looked between them and sighed. “And then there was the journal, whose pages you tore out, and the photographs you defaced.”

“Yes,” Imbolc answered.

“He’s kissed her twice,” Draco informed, “punched me for giving her a courtship ring. Lord Black is encouraging the behavior. What are we supposed to do if her father, who’s his godfather, won’t help?”

“And Lord Malfoy unfortunately has no influence,” Severus decided. “I’ll see if I can get Dumbledore or McGonagall on our side. Keep the chocolates so you can give them back publicly.”

She nodded.

The next morning at breakfast, Imbolc stood from the Ravenclaw table and found Draco’s gaze. He nodded to her and she walked over to the Gryffindor table. Potter was clearly more than a bit sleepy because he didn’t notice her at first although she was standing directly in front of him.

Hermione, though, saw her and shoved his shoulder. He looked up and a smile crossed his face.

“Mr. Potter,” she said formally, reaching out and placing the chocolates on the table. “I’m afraid it is not your place to send me such gifts.”

“You don’t like them?” he asked, but she had already walked away. Chatter started as she continued her journey and she sat next to her friend Apricot.

“Most girls would die to receive chocolates from Harry Bloody Potter,” she whispered.

“Do I look like most girls?” she answered, pouring some pumpkin juice. “Potions first. Favorite subject.” She smiled at her friend.

“Sometimes I think I’ll never understand you,” Apricot stated, and Imbolc just smiled at her.

…

Of course, it wasn’t the end of it.

Hermione and Imbolc were on rounds the night before the Hogsmeade weekend. “Come,” Hermione begged. “It’s a few of us who are interested in Defense.”

“I never have been” Imbolc admitted. “I love dueling. Draco and I have great fun with it over the summer with our lessons, but what’s the point of defending against the Dark Arts when you can use more potent magic?”

Hermione looked at her in shock. “Imbolc!” she cried.

“You forget, my grandmother is in Azkaban for being a spy for the Dark Lord and my mother was accused of being one, only by the Potters, but she was still accused.” She shrugged. “I’m sure you’re also aware of the rumors concerning my uncle.”

“For your sake, I treat them as just rumors.”

Imbolc turned to her. “Then you are either very naïve or very loyal. I would grow up quickly if the first and I would remind you I am a blood purist if the second.”

Her cheeks burned but she pushed her hair behind her shoulders, which seemed to be a habit of hers. “Come. We could use dueling expertise. I know you don’t like Umbridge.”

Stopping again, Imbolc looked up at the ceiling. “Potter will be there, won’t he, and this is his idea.”

Of course, Hermione didn’t deny it.

“I will seek counsel. When is this meeting?”

“This has to be a secret,” Hermione implored. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t believe you fully understand wizarding culture, Granger,” Imbolc informed her. “We’re taught to defer to our elders in everything. While we are brought up to be strong individuals, we nonetheless show respect for the generation above us.”

She did not, however, tell Uncle Lucius. Managing to find Draco, she pulled him behind a tapestry. “I’ve either been invited to a trap or an opportunity,” she told him in a hushed whisper as he put up a silencing charm.

Draco took her hand and entwined their fingers before kissing the back of hers. “Darling, I haven’t seen you all day.”

Leaning forward so their foreheads were touching, she breathed in the scent of him. Now he smelled of old books and trickling water. “Please listen to me. I don’t have time to get an owl to Uncle Lucius and back. We have to decide and we have to decide now.”

“Then tell me, Immy.”

“It seems Potter and Granger are starting their own private defense group. I’ve been invited to their preliminary meeting tomorrow.”

He cursed under his breath. “He’s still trying to sink his teeth into you any way he can.”

“Think, though,” she whispered, moving closer until they were sharing the same breath. “I could be a spy within the organization. We can always tell Umbridge it’s for her, but it could really be for Uncle Lucius and his associates.”

“You’re already his Clairvoyant,” he murmured, pulling her closer so she rested up against him. “We both know how pleased he is with you. Do you really want to attract more attention?”

She breathed out and just basked in the feel of Draco. “I know I shouldn’t, but I looked into my crystal ball. Yes, I know my visions are so unwielding but I wanted to see the end to this conflict. I’m not certain exactly what’s going to happen, but the Dark Lord is going to use the Killing Curse on Harry Potter again. I think he might win. Would it not be better for the Malfoy household to be as favorably placed as possible? Uncle could be named Minister for Magic.”

Draco pulled her away and they looked into each other’s eyes. “What of your own father?”

Imbolc sighed sadly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just don’t know. Perhaps I can secure him a pardon when it’s all over. I can’t find his future.”

“His mother-in-law was a spy and his wife was a very dark witch,” Draco agreed. “He can always claim to have committed the crime of which he’s accused. It may gain him points.” He ran his knuckles down her cheek. “I don’t like the thought of Potter being near you.”

“No one does,” she agreed. “He’s a half-blood with ideas of grandeur. He will never be a Black and he will never be a Malfoy. We are above him in every way possible.”

He laughed quietly. “Too true, Immy.”

“It’s decided then? I’ll go to the preliminary meeting and then we’ll see what happens. Nothing need be set in goblin mithril.”

“Very well,” he murmured, and she leaned up on the toes of her horrible school shoes and kissed him softly. “Do my lips taste like roses?” she teased.

“Hardly,” he disagreed, pulling her closer so they were chest to chest. Her head was pulled back, her long twists falling past her shoulders as she looked up at him. “You taste like winter’s light.”

…

Everyone had left apart from Harry and Hermione. Imbolc had been sitting in the back and she slowly came forward. She had a rendez-vous with Draco later at Madam Puddifoot’s and was dressed in crimson robes that were edged with gold.

“I can’t sign that,” she stated.

Hermione looked up, shocked. “Why not?”

“It’s a magical contract, isn’t it? The words are in a spell that’s in the parchment itself and, therefore, cannot be read, but it’s a contract nonetheless, and if there’s one thing I’ve been taught, it’s only to sign my name to anything I know for certain isn’t a contract.”

Harry looked at her and smiled slightly. “You came. I didn’t think you would.”

She tilted her head. “I found myself intrigued. I asked Professor Snape for your Defense records and realized you were nearly on par to my performance. It seems you’re not just wasting everyone’s time.—I’m still not signing.”

“You must,” Hermione insisted.

“No, she doesn’t,” Harry suddenly said. “If she’s as good as she says she is, then we could use another instructor. Duel later tonight?” His eyes looked hopeful.

“You won’t win kisses,” she warned him. “Far from it, in fact. You realize I have been coached in the art of dueling since I was eight years old?”

“I’m surprised,” Hermione admitted. “I would think a pureblood lady wouldn’t be taught such masculine subjects.”

Imbolc laughed. “We’re all taught the more questionable arts and music and art equally in the Malfoy household. Oh, and let’s not forget how we all know two languages apart from English and Latin. It was ever so useful when the foreign delegations came last year.”

She walked out of the dingy pub and toward her meeting with Draco.

…

The Dark Lord was so pleased that Severus called her back from class and gave her a piece of parchment. “Read it here and then throw it in the fire,” he instructed before sitting down at his desk.

She opened the parchment and read the words. He was granting her a boon for her ingenuity.

Throwing the parchment into the fire, she went to go find Draco.

“What do I ask for? Do you think he’ll have Father cleared?” She chewed her lip. They were sitting at the very end of the Slytherin table, the rest of the house leaving them alone given that they were a courting couple.

“You’d have to have the Dark Lord add a caveat—that he not petition for custody of you,” Draco reasoned. “You know if he does, your lessons will stop, you may not be permitted to see us, and our courtship will be cancelled. You may even be given to Potter.”

Imbolc bit her lip again and he reached out to the abused flesh. 

“You have to think of the consequences.”

“What else do I ask for? I have everything I want in life.”

“A promise of immunity,” Draco reasoned. “You state that you don’t want your name in any special documents, you don’t want to be discussed among the Death Eaters except as ‘the spy.’ If we win the war, you receive a place of honor, if we lose, you are free from suspicion.”

“Do you think I can ask that for the two of us? Or is that too much?”

“Too much,” Draco concluded. “No, ask for it for yourself. The rest of us will take care of ourselves. Father did after the war. There are ways around Azkaban.”

“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll give it to Severus just after our next potions lesson. If the letter was safe coming through him, then it will be safe going the other way. That reminds me, we have our marching orders on how and when to meet. I must admit, Potter is being rather clever.”

“And you make me curious,” Draco complained before smirking at her. “I know you can’t tell me anything else. It’s too soon in the game.”

She took a drink of pumpkin juice. “I was talking to Potter,” she admitted quietly. “He’s going to try and teach them the Patronus Charm if we get far enough. We both know I’m dreadful at light magic. We have to start practicing so my cover isn’t blown.”

Draco smirked at her. “I’ll give you a good memory,” he promised. “Meet me at midnight by the great doors—in your nightgown.”

“Draco!” she admonished.

He only took her hand and kissed it. “Good memory,” he promised. “I will make it worthy of a Patronus.”

“But we’ll be shirking all of pureblood tradition and protocol. It was bad enough when I slept in your arms last summer.” Her violet eyes looked at him imploringly.

“Hush,” he murmured. “Do you trust me?”

She melted. “You’re my Draco,” she said, as if that said everything, and it did. She took in his pointed features, the nose that Harry Potter had broken but Aunt Narcissa had put back to rights, his eyes that were as gray as a Black’s, the platinum blond hair of a Malfoy. Despite their close relationship to each other, they looked nothing like one another. “I can’t bear to be without you,” she whispered. “I don’t think I’ve been able to bear it since we were children of ten.”

He nodded in agreement. “I think that’s called love,” he told her. 

“But what kind of love?” she asked sadly. “Is it the sort of love that a whole marriage can be built off of?”

“We’ll find out together,” he promised, leaning forward on his elbows. She smiled. She couldn’t help it. She leaned forward to kiss him.

…

Imbolc looked in the mirror. She was wearing a white shift and she had braided her long golden hair so that it was nearly all the way down her back. She nodded. Taking her thick shawl of dark blue and brown-gold, she put on her slippers and carefully opened the door to her dormitory and slipped out.

It was a long trek from the tower down to the entrance hall. When she reached it, Draco was waiting for her. He was in the same pajamas and dressing gown, and was carrying a warm blanket and two bottles of elven wine.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, pulling her shawl closer.

“Just follow me,” he told her and he opened the door. They stepped out into the courtyard and soon they were running onto the grounds. It was dark out so they had to look at their feet but then they came to an oak tree. “Here we are,” Draco declared. He put down the bottles of wine and then lay out the blanket. “My lady,” he said as he helped her down.

Arranging her legs under her, she accepted the bottle of elven wine that was handed to her. 

“It’s open. Ladies first.”

She giggled and popped the cork and took a swig of it. “How undignified, Draco. I can hardly imagine this of you.”

“Can’t you?” he asked. She could only see his outline, but she leaned forward and cupped his cheek. He moved his head and kissed her palm.

“Aren’t you worried we’ll get caught?” Imbolc couldn’t help but worry.

“Severus is on patrol. He’ll just call Father, who will be irate, but we won’t get into any serious trouble. Well, not at school.” He took the bottle and took a drink. “Now. I want you to do what you want to do. Forget propriety.”

“We’re in our sleep clothes, Draco,” she reminded him. “I’m only wearing a shawl.”

“And you look enchanting,” he promised her, Leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “Just—“ He took her hand and first placed it over his heart and then slipped it under his pajamas.

She gasped in shock at the feel of his smooth chest. Still, she let him keep it there.

“I need more wine,” she declared, and he passed her the bottle. Imbolc tossed it back. She breathed heavily out of her mouth and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

“Just look at me,” Draco murmured and her eyes locked on him. “I’m here,” he promised. “There’s no one but us.”

“Us,” she repeated skeptically.

“We’re under the moon, drinking wine. There is no Dark Lord. There is no Harry Potter. There is no courtship. There is only Draco and Imbolc, two friends who grew up together.”

“I—I can’t,” she said suddenly, removing her hand. She sat back against the tree and continued to drink the wine. Slowly, Draco sat back up and knocked shoulders with her. She passed over the bottle.

“Oh, Hades,” she murmured, and she grabbed his face and kissed him. He was so startled he remained stationary for a moment, before his arms came around her. Crawling into his lap, she ran her fingers up through his hair and she gasped when he nibbled her bottom lip. “Promise me you didn’t test that on Parkinson.”

“I never kissed her,” he swore, and then he was pulling her closer and his lips descended on hers.

The wine bottle was discarded and Draco lowered her onto the blanket, and she pushed her hands up his pajama top, only to feel heated skin. “By the old gods,” she murmured as he kissed a path down her neck. “Did I ever tell you just how fanciable you are?”

“Glad to hear it,” he murmured as he came to the hollow of her neck.

She pulled him up by his hair and kissed him again. Imbolc might just have a memory for a patronus after all.

…

“Let me get this straight,” Lucius said, his voice full of resignation. They were in Snape’s apartments and Imbolc felt underdressed in her shift and shawl. Her hair was also rather bold for a pureblood witch. “Potter told you he was going to teach his band of misfits the Patronus Charm and since you cannot cast one, both you and Draco decided to make a memory happy enough to produce such magic.”

“It was my idea,” Draco confessed. “I coerced Imbolc.”

“No one coerces Imbolc,” Lucius countered. “She agreed.”

Imbolc bowed her head.

“Draco,” Lucius was now saying. “I thought I discussed with you that if you had to lie with someone, you were to choose a Muggleborn because they had no honor to lose. I did not mean your cousin and courted!”

“We didn’t!” Imbolc insisted. She turned to Draco, “And you’re not allowed to lie with anyone. Muggleborns are tainted and I will not have such taint near my person.”

“You didn’t,” Lucius repeated.

“No,” Draco drawled. “Do you think I have no honor in me that I would despoil the woman I plan on marrying?”

“Then what were you doing dressed for bed?” Lucius looked between them.

“It created intimacy,” Draco argued. “She’s seen me attired for bed before.—and this made it real to us. We were two people who chose to share wine under the stars together with all pretentions gone. We’ve grown up as brother and sister and yet not. Surely you can see the tension it’s created.—And now we’re courting. We’re not like most couples who are going to walk by the lake and treat each other almost like strangers. We crave intimacy, more intimacy, and now we have the chance to grab it.”

“Imbolc?”

She looked at Lucius. “I know I resisted the courtship,” she began, “but I never resisted Draco. He’s been mine since we were ten.—He’s my Draco. We were discreet. We chose tonight because we knew Severus was on duty and that it wouldn’t go into our official records or become gossip for the faculty.” She paused and held up her hand. “One moment.”

She slowly stood and released Draco’s hand, which she had been holding. Pausing, she stood still for several moments before she lunged to her left and pulled off an invisibility cloak to reveal a very stunned looking Harry Potter.

Lucius immediately pulled out his wand as did Severus, while Draco pulled her backward and pushed her behind him. “You’re not dressed,” he murmured. She still brandished her wand.

“A well placed Obliviate I think,” Lucius suggested.

“I’ll do the honors,” Imbolc decided. “He’s my unwanted suitor after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now on Tumblr! Username -- excentrykemuse
> 
> I already have information up about the next chapter of "Monster in Me."


	6. Part the Fifth

****

**Part the Fifth—  
** _Midnight, You come and pick me up, no headlights, Long drive, Could end up in burning flames or paradise, Fade into view, oh, it’s been awhile since I’ve heard from you.  
_ **—“Style,” Taylor Swift  
**

Imbolc was very unhappy with the arrangement. When she was finished with her prefect duties, she changed into evergreen robes and sighed. There was nothing for it.

“To think,” Draco said. “Io joins us our next train ride.”

“I still don’t think she’s going to be in Slytherin,” Imbolc argued. “She doesn’t have a devious bone in her body.”

“No,” Draco agreed. “She doesn’t.—I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Dumbledore threatened to sue,” she replied sadly. “Hence my holiday at Chez Black.” She breathed out. “At least I can ensure we have a Yule Log.”

“I’m coming over and claiming a dance New Year’s Eve. I’ll have Minxie send over a case of the best elven wine so you can properly celebrate.”

She clung to Io on the platform, trying not to cry, before throwing herself into Draco’s arms. “Write to me,” she whispered, and he nodded into her shoulder.

Harry watched her and she eventually disengaged herself and made her way with Valentinus and her trunk. She recognized the Order members who were to escort them.

Of course, Harry ran into Grimmauld Place and threw himself in Sirius’s arms. The two hugged like father and son and it disturbed Imbolc.

“You have a daughter,” she reminded Sirius as it was her turn to come forward, “and your heiress.”

“I’m sorry, Lux,” he said truthfully, which hurt Imbolc a little. “You are my darling little girl.”

“I’m Imbolc, Father.”

“Of course you are. What did I say?” He looked at her and she just shook her head.

“It’s nothing. Now, tell me why I can’t go dancing with Draco on New Year’s? He means to come, you know, and give me that dance.”

“That whelp isn’t coming anywhere near you.”

“That whelp is my future husband.”

Father and daughter stared at one another.

“You’ve decided then.”

She nodded.

Sirius looked up at Harry. “Well, you might change your mind.—And I really don’t like this Malfoy. He’s dark, he’s your cousin, he’s a Malfoy, he’s in Slytherin.”

Imbolc took a deep, calming breath. “Mother was dark. I am dark. You married your godsibling which is a closer connection than being first cousins once removed. You married the daughter of a Malfoy, and your entire family was in Slytherin!” She rushed up the stairs, past Harry, and then she realized she didn’t know which room to use. “Kreacher!”

The house elf appeared and she looked at it. “Mistress in heir room,” it told her and she was shown into a room of dark rose and gold. It seemed like Sirius had redecorated for her. Her trunk was at the end of the bed and Kreacher was beginning to unpack it.

“Thank you,” she murmured, before picking up her latest novel and starting to read. Now all she had to do was convince Sirius to let her go to Diagon Alley so she could buy the Malfoys their Yule presents.

…

“Darling,” Draco murmured and Imbolc turned to the side. “The Mudblood and Potty are here.”

This created a little more of a disturbance from her, but she only curled in on herself when he shook her.

“Imbolc,” Hermione said. “Are you awake?”

At the new voice, she immediately sat up and looked around. She was in one of the window seats in the library, her head in Draco’s lap. Lacerta was in a nearby chair, chaperoning supposedly, reading a book on Charms.

Then she remembered. She had rounds last night and then finished a particularly in depth Transfiguration essay that took four hours to perfect.

Hermione was looking at her and Imbolc nodded. She turned to Draco and ran a hand down his face. “I’ll find you.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Promises, promises.” He smirked at her. 

She got up, her hand trailing behind her as they still held on to one another, and she came up to Harry and Hermione.

“You sleep on Malfoy’s lap?” Hermione asked her in confusion.

“I feel safest with him than I do anyone,” she responded. “Why wouldn’t I have him watch over me in slumber?”

Harry looked mutinous. Imbolc decided to ignore him.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Granger?”

“I,” she brushed her hair behind her shoulder, “no.”

She nodded. “You have someone in mind, though. I shan’t press.” Imbolc looked over to Harry. “You wanted to speak to me?”

“It’s the Patronus,” Harry said, sticking his hands in his jeans. He was wearing Muggle clothing again as it was the weekend. How quaint and horrible. If Imbolc really cared, she would insist that Sirius buy him a wardrobe. Now, she just remembered how unrepentant he was when he saw her in her nightgown and had followed her into a private family meeting.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I can cast it, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“You can?” Hermione said in shock. “It’s just, you grew up with the Malfoys.”

“Are you suggesting that they cannot give me a happy enough memory to create a corporeal patronus?” Of course, Severus had to tutor her for two months after the incident with Harry Potter and his invisibility cloak, but she got it in the end.

That night she watched as everyone learned. She held back until Harry pushed her forward. “Show them what you’ve got,” he whispered, kissing her ear. She looked at him and stared angrily. Steadying herself, she thought of elven wine and pajamas and the feel of skin and kisses tasting like moonlight. A dragon erupted from her wand.

She turned back to Harry. He looked absolutely gutted.

Per usual, she walked down to the Potions room where Severus was waiting. She was supplied with parchment and she carefully dated and numbered each page. Then, in coded runes, she described the patronus of each member along with Harry’s particular wand movement. She sealed it with wax, without a seal, and handed it over to Severus.

Of course, Umbridge was aware of her involvement. “When are they?” she demanded.

“I couldn’t say without being cursed,” she lied. “However, I would remind you that there are at least three prefects involved. One would only have to look at the schedules.”

“You. Potter.” She seemed lost.

Imbolc wasn’t going to give her the answer since she had already given her enough information on a silver platter.

…

This was ridiculous, Imbolc thought as she rushed up the steps to the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. She had just managed to save her own father from her cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, and now she was following the dunderhead Potter on his latest extravaganza. The Octavian boy had the prophecy but then he seemed to have disappeared, possibly with Uncle Lucius.

What she saw sickened her. There was the Dark Lord battling with Professor Dumbledore. She’d seen this, she knew she had.

Taking her wand and pointing it to her throat, and after quickly muttering sonorous!, she shouted, “Time!”

The Dark Lord looked over at her and then nodded. Within a minute he had disappeared in the floo and only Harry Potter and Dumbledore were left. Harry looked at her. “Time?” he asked.

“I was trying to distract him. Everyone looks at their watch when you ask the time,” she answered simply.

Harry openly laughed.

Of course, Imbolc had to wait to go home to Malfoy Manor. When she did arrive in the sitting room it was to the sound of applause. She blushed and looked around her adoptive family and to the Dark Lord.

He picked up her hand and brought it to just beneath his lips. “Well played, m’lady. You truly are a treasure.”

“I’m glad my gamble worked then,” she said. “I honestly wasn’t sure it would.”

The Dark Lord held onto her hand. “A boon, my dear. You may have time to consider.”

“No,” she said quickly, looking into his brown-red eyes. “I know what I want.”

Uncle Lucius looked at her in confusion.

“Do you know how my mother died, my lord?” she asked. At a movement of his hand to continue, she took a deep breath. “I performed accidental magic and a Muggle saw me. He dragged me through the village by my hair. Mother found him and cast the Cruciatus Curse, I believe, on him. She was shot through the head by another Muggle.” She closed her eyes in pain. “I’ve considered Draco as mine long before my courtship. This Muggle who dragged me through the streets, he had a tattoo on his arm. It was large and of a skull and a rose. I ask that, if Draco becomes a Death Eater, that you not mark him in any way. I couldn’t bear that reminder of my mother’s death every time I saw my husband intimately.”

The Dark Lord looked at her in calculation. “You name a high price.”

“You know I wrote of the charm Potter used to summon his ‘followers’ to those horrible meetings I had to attend. Can you make one exception and have Draco wear such a charm around his neck? I won’t force your hand. It is merely what I ask.”

He bowed his head slightly. “Are you quite rested so you may listen to the prophecy or would you prefer to lie down and wait until the morrow?”

“I will listen,” she declared. Any little bit of devotion she showed could only help her in the eyes of the Dark Lord.

“I will claim your arm, although I’m sure you’d like to walk on young Malfoy’s,” the Dark Lord teased. Imbolc wasn’t sure she’d thought of him as ever teasing. Lucius led them forward toward the smoking room, the Dark Lord and Imbolc processing behind them, with Draco taking up the rear.

“It’s beautiful,” Imbolc whispered as she hurried over to the orb. “I didn’t really get to see in the gloom, and then with all the running, you must understand, my lord…”

“Of course,” he responded. “If you touch it, you will go mad.”

“Then how am I—?” she began to ask, turning toward the three men in the room.

Draco came up behind her and kissed the crown of her head. “It’s strange that the prophecy is forever in flux.”

“No, that makes sense,” Imbolc countered. “A prophecy is a foretelling of the future. The future is never completely set. While a deck of cards or a crystal ball or tea leaves may remain stagnant, they only see the most likely possibility.”

The Dark Lord came up and waved his hand over the prophecy orb and a figure emerged.

“That was Professor Trelawney,” Imbolc said in shock. “I never knew she had it in her. Again,” she instructed.

It was played four times while she took notes on it. “It was mislabeled,” she finally declared, throwing down her quill. “It’s not about Harry Potter at all.”

“How could he pick it up?” Lucius asked.

“I’m not certain. It may be the nature of labeling, but it’s not about Harry Potter. When Potter wouldn’t tell me his actual name, I went searching among Father’s things. Well, I had Kreacher do it for me. House elves are always overlooked, especially by Father.” She smirked at Uncle Lucius. “One item Kreacher found was Potter’s birth certificate. He wasn’t legally born on 31 July. His birth certificate records it as 12:30 AM on the first of August. Such discrepencies weren’t uncommon especially with births so close to midnight half a century ago, though I cannot explain this one. Also, his name is Henry. Why anyone would keep that a secret is beyond me.”

“His name is Henry,” Draco repeated.

“Yes. Henry James. Isn’t that the name of a Muggle author? I swear one of the girls in Ravenclaw was reading one of his novels.”

“It is,” the Dark Lord confirmed. “I would never wish to denigrate my other spy’s efforts, but you, my dear, have done more to advance the cause in the past week, than a single Death Eater has in a year.”

“Don’t get your expectations too high,” she warned. “I found myself in a few happy circumstances. I almost didn’t end up at the Ministry of Magic tonight. I’m afraid I was supposed to be meeting Draco and had to go off with Potter without leaving a message.”

“I wonder why his birthday would be considered in July,” Lucius murmured, stepping closer and offering the Dark Lord a firewhiskey.

Imbolc shrugged and then had a thought. “Pour me a glass of wine and give me a moment. I’ve had a thought.” She grabbed Draco’s hand and ran with him through the halls to her room. “Stay, silly,” she commanded, gently kissing him. She found her cards, which had already been unpacked, and they ran back.

She brandished them. “If Potter’s birthday has been altered then it’s not so much of a leap that someone else’s has, as well.” She shuffled her cards. “Potter may be just a decoy.”

Flipping a card, she looked at it and frowned. She dragged it to the side. By the third card she was smiling. “Does a nymph mean anything to anyone?”

Everyone looked at each other until Draco snapped his fingers. “Daphne Greengrass. She was born the second of August or something. Her family is dirt poor although being purebloods. Her father drinks away all their money. I think she has three sisters.”

“Isn’t she in Slytherin?”

“Her other sister in Hogwarts is a Ravenclaw,” Draco supplied.

“Not a supporter then,” Imbolc mused. “I wonder if the hat was tampered with to hide her in Slytherin.” She looked up at the Dark Lord who was looking at her pointedly. “Stay away from Daphne Greengrass. You don’t want to ‘mark her as your equal’ whatever that may mean. Dumbledore and his friends must assume this ‘mark’ is Potter’s scar. Let them think that. Go after him even or not, whatever your preferences. Just know they’re hiding Daphne and don’t go looking. That prophecy means nothing until you mark her. If only we could marry her off to a Death Eater.”

“I thought you believed in marriage for the sake of love,” Lucius argued.

“When it concerns myself,” she agreed. “I’m a Black, after all, and with a heart as black as mine…”

…

Imbolc was at her vanity, doing her hair. It wasn’t quite time for breakfast when the owl arrived. At first she ignored it. The magic had to be precise for this knotted braid that once again fell to the shoulders.

When she was finished, she went to the window and took the message. The handwriting was of her father. She set it down and went to her closet to choose her robes for the day. No, not robes, she decided. She chose a pale lavender dress that came to just above her knees and a wizarding coat made of acramantula silk that belted around the middle until it fell in pale blue to the same place. Although a little impractical, she wore heels.

Picking up her letter, Imbolc hummed to herself and walked toward the breakfast nook. She broke the seal, which was blue and had a crow’s head, and then opened up the letter. She paused.

Imbolc wasn’t certain how she felt about this.

She wasn’t even aware that her legs had gone out from under her until Draco’s strong arms came up around her. 

“I’ve got you,” he told her as he lowered her to the ground. “You’re fine.” There was a pop, which must have been a house elf, because a glass of orange juice was pressed in her hand. “Drink,” Draco instructed.

“I—yes,” she said, drinking. “Its just—Father—he—“

“Right,” Draco said, picking her up bridal style after handing her the letter.

“I can walk for myself!”

“You need some food,” he argued. “You’ve had a shock. Show Father the letter and hopefully he’ll figure a way around it. He’s in politics for a reason.”

She laughed. “That’s because he pretends to like Muggleborns!”

They entered the breakfast nook and Draco set her down in her chair, which was to the left of his father. He sat on the right.

“Imbolc, dear, what’s wrong?” Narcissa asked from her place.

“She’s had a shock. Something about a letter,” Draco responded, taking his seat.

Lucius came in reading a letter of his own. He looked up and saw Imbolc. “Little flame,” he asked, “have you heard from your father recently?”

“Today,” she answered, disheartened. “I nearly collapsed.”

“Yes,” he sighed, putting aside his own letter. “We’ll talk with your aunt after breakfast. Draco, too, I think.”

“I’d rather—“

Lucius looked at her curiously. “If you’d rather not. I realize how delicate a topic it is,” he said comfortingly.

Narcissa read the letter Lucius received, her mouth a thin line. “We’ll go to court,” she said simply. “He may have just been acquitted, but Malfoy Manor is her home.”

“He speaks of his desire to form a courtship between me and Harry Potter,” Imbolc said in worry, offering her own letter. “I just—I can’t—I have pretended to be his friend for an entire year. I can’t do it my entire life.”

“Well, you’re not going over to Grimmauld Place until this is resolved,” Lucius said firmly. “I’m sorry, Imbolc, but we have to draw lines in the sand.”

“I want Mother,” she said a little desperately. “She could just end this entire situation. We could still live in Haye.”

“Among Muggles?” Lucius spat. “No. You would live here at the Manor. Lux was always more of a Malfoy than a Kingsley.” He set his hand on Imbolc’s shoulder. “Did he mention the bit where he’s adopting the Potter brat?”

“Yes,” she answered, upset. “I will not live in a house with him.”

“You’re sixteen,” Narcissa reasoned. “The court should take your beliefs into account.”

…

The trial came around. They barely had any time to prepare. It was a week into summer hols. The Malfoys, of course, all came. Draco and Imbolc had decided to dress a little controversially. They were wearing leather robes. Imbolc’s were a beaten brown, that tied up the front and formed a bustle in back that was accented by flaps in front. She wore leather leggings underneath with heels. Her hair was in its usual medieval twists.

Draco was wearing similar robes that were high-necked and sleeveless, that fell to his ankles. They looked like they were about to go Abraxan riding. In fact, that was exactly what they planned on doing after the trial. 

Of course, her courtship came up, but that was to be expected.

What was a surprise was when Sirius declared that Lucius wasn’t a fit guardian given the fact that he was leading Imbolc astray given his connection to the Dark Lord.

“She yelled ‘Time!’ to You-Know-Who when he was battling Albus Dumbledore! Within moments, he had exited via the floo.”

Imbolc stood up and took the stand. “I would remind the court that while several Death Eaters were present, the Dark Lord’s presence has not yet been verified. If I did yell ‘Time’ it was to distract. I had no idea the party in question would leave so soon after my utterance.”

“Was he or was he not present, Lady Imbolc?” the judge asked.

“That’s irrelevant to the case,” she stated. “I can say I have not seen anyone I would call a Dark Lord in my uncle’s home.”

Sirius looked angry.

“I would also like to remind the court that my own father risked his life to protect his godson. He didn’t do it to protect me, his flesh and blood. He did it for someone else’s child. Moreover, he didn’t care that I had already lost one parent. I want to stay with the Malfoys, where I know I am treasured, and whom I know will not abandon me for the sake of someone not of the household.”

“What of this matter of courtships?” the judge asked. “Your father claims it’s incestuous.”

“It is allowed by wizarding law, no dispensation is required,” she stated. “This was not the case for my own parents.” She took a deep breath. “My father wishes for me to enter a courtship with Harry Potter. While Potter and I are friends, of a sort, at Hogwarts, I will not have him near my person. He is no respecter of my personal wishes. How can I be with someone like that? Also, while not popular, I would like to remind the court that the Black family motto is Toujours Pur. Always pure. Potter’s mother is a Muggleborn.”

That certainly created a stir.

“You are aware that Mr. Potter and Miss Black are already wards of Lord Black.”

“Miss Black?” she asked in confusion. Imbolc looked back at the Malfoys who all looked lost.

“Your cousin,” Sirius called out. “Regulus’s daughter. Her mother is unwell and she’s been sent to England.”

That certainly shocked her. She turned back to the judge. “I was unaware. However, these are individuals without homes. I have a loving home. I have cousins who are my siblings. An aunt who is my mother, an uncle who is my father. I am also seventeen in February. Even if you award Father custody of me, I will leave for the Malfoys next summer.”

In the end, the Malfoys won the case.

Sirius came up to them with Harry dithering behind him. “I’d like to invite Imbolc over for dinner tomorrow so she can meet her cousin Selenadora,” he said. “They deserve to know each other, Malfoy.”

Lucius looked at Imbolc and the Narcissa who nodded. “Only if Draco escorts her.”

Sirius sighed. “Six o’clock.”

They had meant to go to dinner together as a Malfoy clan, but the Dark Lord was waiting for them. He was sitting in royal purple robes and lounging elegantly in a chair. “Ah, I see the day is won. I would like to take Lady Imbolc to dinner,” he stated.

Imbolc’s first thought was his face, but she didn’t say anything.

Lucius bowed. “Please allow the lady to change.”

The Dark Lord nodded and Imbolc walked back to her room, utterly confused. She stared at her closet for a full two minutes before there was a knock on her door. “Who is it?” she called.

Her answer was the door opening and Narcissa behind it. “I thought this might be a problem,” she murmured. She walked into the closet and pulled out a set of black silk robes, trimmed in gold brocade. The underside of the dress was gold acramantula silk that showed through when she walked. “Fit for a princess,” Narcissa said, laying it on the bed. “You change, I promise not to look, and I’ll choose your beauty enhancers.”

With her aunt’s help, Imbolc was ready in ten minutes. Among the Black jewels were several ruby barrettes that Narcissa had placed strategically in her hair. She was wearing blood red earrings that were large studs, lined in gold.

When she entered the room again, it was to see the rest of the Malfoy clan mulling about and the Dark Lord holding court. She heard Draco’s indrawn breath, but she forced herself not to think about it. Instead, she curtseyed low, her eyes cast down, until the Dark Lord’s pianist fingers touched her shoulder.

She arose and looked up into his eyes and his inhuman face. “May I ask where we’re going?”

“Somewhere safe,” he answered. “I think you will not be disappointed, Lady Imbolc.”

He turned to Lucius. “I’ll have her back by midnight. I can’t promise how much elven wine she’ll drink, however.”

Imbolc couldn’t help but blush at that, but Lucius only bowed. She knew a hangover potion would be waiting for her in the morning. Draco stepped forward and they clasped hands. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured in her ear and she smiled at him.

She was dressed for a royal function or a ball, if she were honest, but dinner with the Dark Lord was something else all together.

Placing his hand on her back, the Dark Lord led her to the floo. “Hold on to me,” he murmured, and then they were flying through the fire.


	7. Part the Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we're in Japan. What will the Dark Lord say and do? Also, Harry certainly acts a bit rashly but manages to pull it off.

**Part the Sixth—  
** _Losing him was blue like I’d never known, Missing him was dark gray all alone, Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met, But loving him was red.  
_ **—“Red,” Taylor Swift  
**

“This is Japan,” Imbolc realized as she looked out the window at the sprawling city beneath her. She turned to the Dark Lord, smiling. “You brought me to Japan.”

“A powerful Yakuza here protects my identity,” he murmured, motioning for her to sit on the opposite side of a table. The table was short and she had to sit on her knees. There were screens all around them. “We can be entirely anonymous here.”

“True, that’s something neither of us can quite accomplish in Britain,” she sighed. “Especially yourself. Tell me, do you enjoy the media attention you are receiving speculating on your presence at the Ministry or is it simply an annoyance?”

A waitress, her face powdered, her lips red, and her black hair up in an elaborate twist, came in. She placed two small glasses in front of them along with a blue bottle with a flowered vine crawling up it. She instantly withdrew.

The Dark Lord picked it up and poured them each a glass. “This is sake. You drink your whole glass in one go.”

“Really?” she answered.

They clinked glasses. She took her glass, paused, and then knocked it back. She sputtered a bit.

“Enjoy it?” he asked.

She nodded her head. “It was strange, but it was good.”

He poured her another glass. “And to answer your question, I find it amusing. Anything that discredits Potter is more than gratifying, even if he is merely a decoy.” He looked at her. “You’re very much in love with Malfoy, are you not?”

“I don’t—“

“Don’t lie,” he ordered, drinking his sake. She did the same. “I am merely wondering if you are potentially interested in another match.”

She paused. She certainly wasn’t expecting this. Imbolc breathed deeply. “I can’t imagine another match that would hold my interest over Draco. Surely you know our close bond together.”

“It is for that reason that I ask,” the Dark Lord stated coolly.

Cautiously she asked, “Who is more important than the Malfoy heir? Please don’t say Harry Potter, because my answer is ‘no’.”

The Dark Lord changed tactics. “Have you looked into the future? My future?” He poured another glass. Sushi had appeared before them and she carefully chose a piece before washing it down with sake.

“I looked at the war,” she answered. “There’s to be a battle. I’m not certain who wins. However, you hit Harry Potter, the idiot, with the Killing Curse. I don’t know if he survives again.”

“That is why you want immunity and for young Malfoy to be free of the Dark Mark,” the Dark Lord surmised. “You’re playing to the uncertain future. Perhaps, then, you will not be so open to my proposal, heiress.” He looked at her carefully and then removed a jewelry box from his pocket.

She looked at it in horror. 

“It’s not silver, for the Blacks,” he apologized, as he opened the box. In it was a large gold ring, clumsily made, with a diamond shaped black stone dominating it. “It belonged to my mother’s family who were descended from the Peverells.”

Imbolc looked at it and then at his red eyes. “I—you’ve spent so many years unmarried,” she stated. “I always assumed you didn’t want companionship or children.”

“There was a witch,” he admitted, “at Hogwarts. I was not deemed worthy. I determined never to marry after that experience—until I encountered you. I thought I would be satisfied as your magical guardian and I agree that the match with young Malfoy is a good one, but I would ask that you would consider my suit.”

He picked up her right hand and slipped the ring onto her third finger. She was now officially accepting two courtships.

“I never said ‘yes’,” she argued.

“Sleep on it,” he told her as he poured another glass of sake. Wanting to take her mind off of it, she ate more fish and then knocked back her glass. “You’ll find in the morning it is never imprudent to have two suitors, both of whom are politically powerful and devoted to you.”

“You’re—?”

“Do you think I take my other followers or associates to dinner?” he laughed. “Come, now, tell me of your plans after Hogwarts.”

She relaxed into the familiar subject and tried to ignore the weight on her right hand.

When she was finally returned home, she didn’t even think about it. After changing, which took more effort given the fact that her balance was completely off, she stumbled out of the room and found Draco’s. Without even knocking, she slipped in. He was laid out in nothing more than his pajama bottoms, atop the covers, his platinum blond hair mussed.

She climbed onto the bed and shook his shoulder. “Immy?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. “What are you doing—? My room!” 

Placing her hand over his mouth, she breathed deeply. “I think I’m drunk and something’s happened,” she explained. “I need to tell you now.” There were tears forming in her eyes. “I couldn’t bear to sleep on this and be the only one who knew.”

He pulled her hand away and cupped her cheek. “Darling, what is it?”

Sobbing, she held out her right hand where the Peverell ring was on display. “He’s courting me, Draco. He’s fucking courting me!”

Draco grabbed her hand and stared at the ring. “By the old gods,” he murmured before he clasped her to him. “It’s all right. He didn’t make you remove my ring,” he reasoned. “He’s behaving with honor—well, as much honor as this situation merits.—Come, we’ll go to Father’s study.”

“But it’s half past two!” she declared.

“Doesn’t matter,” he disagreed, pulling her from the bed before picking up an old Quidditch jersey. 

He set her down in a comfortable chair and then disappeared again. It took Draco so long that Imbolc was almost sure they weren’t coming. Then Lucius rushed into the room, he grabbed her hand and stared at the ring.

“This is from?”

She nodded, crying again. “He says he’s devoted to me. How is he devoted to me? I’m his spy and I read the future for him!”

“He grants you boons. It’s unheard of even in the inner circle,” Lucius told her.

“How is she going to explain it away to Cousin Sirius or at Hogwarts?” Draco now asked pragmatically. “As far as I’m concerned, nothing has changed between us, and I will make her my wife, even if I have to use every dirty tactic I know, but someone’s going to notice. It’s rather large.”

“I wonder where he got it from,” Lucius mused.

“It’s a Peverell ring,” she told them. “It’s from his mother’s family. He’s a goddamn Peverell!”

“She’s drunk,” Draco murmured, probably to explain her unladylike swearing.

“Well,” Lucius said unhappily, “he’s definitely serious then. You know French wizards from the Tournament. Just say one has declared intentions and it’s an old family piece. If anyone asks about you and Draco, say you accepted the courtship as a courtesy due to your friendship.”

She was crying again. Draco came forward to embrace her, but she turned away and just curled in on herself.

“You’ll be sleeping with your aunt,” Lucius told her. “She knows the basics. Come on.” He swept her into his arms. “Draco, go to bed. You’ll see her sometime in the morning.”

When Imbolc was placed in a foreign bed, she felt the arms of her Aunt Narcissa come around her. “Cry all you need,” she murmured into Imbolc’s hair. “I’m here. There’s nowhere we need to be tomorrow morning.”

…

It was clear that Draco was unhappy with the courtship gifts. The Dark Lord had gifted her with a fountain pen made of unicorn horn that was imprinted with jasmine. His next gift had been an elaborate pearl choker, that Lacerta and Imbolc had just stared at.

“Maybe I’ll wear it to my first ball,” she mused.

They were standing on the steps of Grimmauld Place, holding hands, as Draco rang the bell.

“He’s asked that you go dancing with him tomorrow night,” Draco petulantly informed.

Imbolc turned to answer when the door opened to reveal Harry. “Ah, there you are,” he said, taking in their joined hands unhappily.

However, they didn’t pay attention to him as they walked inside. “Where? Are we going back to Japan of all places?”

“He means for you to wear that elaborate choker,” Draco seethed. “You’ll probably go to Germany or somewhere like that. They’re allies of him.” He spat out the word and clasped her hand tighter, but she didn’t mind. He could feel as possessive as he wanted, for all she cared.

Selenadora was a beautiful yet strange witch. She was dressed in the latest fashions, probably thanks to Sirius, but her brown hair fell down to her mid back and she wore a coronet on her brow. Gray eyes shone out of an intelligent face, which also possessed the Black cheekbones.

If Imbolc hadn’t seen hair like Selenadora’s during the tournament, she would have been insulted. “Lady cousin,” she greeted, coming forward and clasping her hand. “I’m Imbolc and this is our cousin Heir Draco Malfoy.”

Draco stepped forward, took her hand and lifted it to just beneath his lips before releasing it.

“I understood,” Selenadora said carefully, “that you were to come and live with us, Imbolc, but that you chose to stay with your cousins.”

“Yes, I grew up with them,” she answered. “They’ve been very good to me.”

It was then that Sirius noticed the ring. “What is that?” he said, grabbing her hand. “I thought you were courting the Malfoy boy?”

“I am,” she stated. “A French wizard I met during the Tournament also offered suit, and we thought it prudent not to reject him out of hand.”

Harry came up. “What an ugly ring.”

Draco snorted.

“It’s an old family piece,” Imbolc told him, “and you know I’m more unhappy than you are, Draco. I was in tears until five in the morning!”

“Do you think I got any sleep?” he countered. “I was ready to go duel the bastard except I didn’t know the floo address and I didn’t want to die.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

Sirius was looking back and forth between the two of them. “Dissention between the ranks, I see. That’s something then. I think I approve of this French wizard.”

Imbolc had to hold in her laughter.

Over dinner, Selenadora kept deferring to Harry, who wasn’t quite sure what to do with the situation. Imbolc and Draco kept on sharing glances, wondering what a blood purist like Regulus Black would say if he knew his daughter was fond of a half-blood, albeit the proclaimed Chosen One.

…

“I’m not sure,” Imbolc stated as she looked at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a dark yellow dress with a bustle in back, her hair covered in pearls, with the pearl choker around her neck. She was also wearing pearl earrings and pearl bracelets.

“It doesn’t clash with your hair,” Narcissa said. “And I know the style is different from what you usually wear”—it was a column that fell down to her shoulders—“but it really is quite beautiful.”

“I don’t understand this wooing. I’m convinced I’m going to end up in a back room telling someone their fortune. And how does this give me immunity?”

Narcissa sighed. “Trust the Dark Lord,” was all she could say. “Now, you’re ready. He should be here any moment.”

Draco was oddly missing, though perhaps Imbolc couldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t like to see him dressed for another woman. The Dark Lord appeared in a swirl of red and he took her in appreciatively. “You wore them,” he breathed.

“Wasn’t that the point?” she quipped back, much to everyone’s combined horror. “I think the dress is off. Do you think the dress is off?”

He laughed, his voice as attractive as ever, and he held out his hand to her. “Do you expect me to know such things?”

“I thought you were an expert in all things magical,” she accused as he took her hand.

“Come. Spain awaits.” He held her almost tenderly in the floo and they whisked off to a ballroom. He held her hand formally as he greeted various politicians and members of society, and she just smiled as she couldn’t speak a word of Spanish.

Then the dancing started.

Imbolc expected the Spanish Minister for Magic to start it off, but instead the Dark Lord led her to the center of the floor. He held her in his arms, reaching up with his right in a semi circle until she mimicked the gestured. “You do know the wizarding waltz,” he confirmed, and she smirked at him.

“I had the best tutors, my lord.”

The music started and they began the intricate steps, never leaving one another’s grasp. Soon other couples joined them but their eyes never left one another.

“Enough of this formality,” he said, when she was once again held closely in his arms. “To you I am Lord Peverell, or simply Peverell.”

“Peverell,” she mused, her violet eyes looking into his red. “It suits. May I use it even among my family? You are my suitor, after all.”

The dance parted them so that she was turned so that her back was pressed against his front, their hands still clasped and he whispered into her ear, “It would much please me, Imbolc.”

“I did not give you leave to use my name,” she reminded him.

“Forgive me, I thought such familiarity was implied in a courtship with one so free of spirit as you.”

“Hmm,” she suggested. The dance ended and she lowered herself into a curtsey and he tapped her shoulder so she should rise.

“None of that,” he decreed. “I am simply Peverell and not the Dark Lord, am I not?”

She tilted her head to the side. “I have never known you to be a man to not stand on ceremony.”

“You have never known me as a lover,” he argued.

A young man approached and in halting English asked her to dance. She looked at Peverell and he gave his nod of approval, so she went off in the young Spanish wizard’s arms.

She danced from man to man the entire night, even sitting down and sipping punch a few times with the more interesting, her eyes always tracking Peverell. His red eyes seemed to catch hers until, suddenly, he grasped her around the waist and pulled her out onto a balcony.

“I promised this dance to—someone,” she ended lamely. “Really, I can’t get their names right.”

“It takes practice,” he offered, removing the cup of punch from her hands. “I would ask a boon from the belle of the ball.”

She flushed at the praise. “Isn’t it you who usually grants the boons?”

“True,” he said, stalking around her. “But there are certain things one asks a lady without presuming.”

“Then ask,” was all she could say. “You may be rejected.”

“I may,” he agreed, touching her shoulder. “I should hope not.” Their eyes met again and she saw such heat there that it almost frightened her. “I ask for a kiss,” he murmured.

“I—pardon?” She turned toward him and truly looked at him. He was tall and lithe, as deadly as the serpent his face resembled, with a voice as liquid as silk. He wasn’t attractive, unlike Draco, but he was certainly the most intriguing man she’d met.

“A kiss,” he repeated, reaching for her. “There would be no shame in it.”

“But Draco—“

“Is another suitor,” he countered. “He is of no concern to us when we are together. All that matters is us.” He approached her and took her trembling hands in his. “A kiss, Lady Imbolc. That is what I ask.”

“I—“ she searched his eyes “It’s too soon,” she decided. She disengaged herself and walked back into the ballroom with her head held high. Her next dance partner found her and if she and Peverell didn’t speak when he brought her back to Malfoy Manor, she found she couldn’t mind.

…

“You’ve made The Daily Prophet,” Lucius told her as he handed Imbolc the front page of the paper. Sure enough, there was a picture of her smiling, speaking to the Spanish Minister of Magic. She was called the lady of the elusive Lord Peverell and a new face on the international scene.

“I’m not sure Peverell will like it,” she mused, “we had a disagreement.”

“How so, dear?” Narcissa asked kindly.

Imbolc looked at Draco. “I’m not sure I should say. It’s a rather delicate subject.”

Lucius stared at her coolly. “Did you offend the Dark Lord?”

“Possibly,” she answered him truthfully. “He asked for a boon, and I said it was too soon to even think of such things. We didn’t speak a word after that.”

“What was that boon?”

“Uncle, I really shouldn’t…”

“Imbolc!” he demanded.

“A kiss,” she whispered.

He swore under this breath. “I must contact the Dark Lord, though what possessed you to deny the him of all men?”

“I wasn’t ready!” she practically shouted. “And I don’t want to kiss anyone but Draco! It’s unfair after so short a time to make me try and forget such an allegiance of the heart.”

Lucius sighed. “As I said, I must see if the Dark Lord will accept a fire call. May the old gods help us if he is incensed.”

Draco and Imbolc walked around the grounds later. “He truly asked you for a kiss and you denied him?”

“What would you have me do?” she asked angrily. “I’m not something to be sold or bartered. If this gets much worse I will simply go and live with Father and if the courts ask me why I will be entirely candid.”

“Immy,” he sighed, taking her into his arms. “Please don’t do that.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I feel like a pawn.”

“Young Malfoy,” the attractive voice of the Dark Lord rang out, “I think I am needed in this situation.”

Imbolc saw the Dark Lord standing there, his black robes whipping around him like shadows, and a shiver ran through her. Draco’s hands squeezed her shoulders before he reluctantly pulled away; she felt utterly alone.

“Come,” she heard her Uncle Lucius murmur. “Let’s leave the Dark Lord to his business.”

And then she knew it: she was completely at the mercy of this wizard before her. Although there were tears streaming down her cheeks, she stood tall and refused to curtsey. “Peverell,” she murmured. “Did you accomplish everything you wished to politically last night?”

“You wish to hide behind politics?” he asked cuttingly. “I had not thought that of you, Lady Imbolc.”

“Perhaps I wish to gage your mood,” she flung back. “And I am more than just a pretty face. I have been under my uncle’s tutelage since I was a child of six. I may not play the game of politics well, but I certainly understand it better than most purebloods. The language last night and the players may be foreign to me, but that does not mean I cannot grasp the concepts that were being discussed or considered.”

The Dark Lord looked at her assessingly. “I apologize, my lady. I mistook your meaning.” He paused. “There’s a Muggle song, you will not have heard it.”

She waited, confused by the topic he had chosen. 

“It’s about a man being in love with an angel who has fallen from heaven and he is afraid. He’s fearful that he cannot be the man she needs him to be.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Have you found evidence of the legendary angels, Peverell, or are you trying to tell me something else?” Angels had been rumored about among wizards for centuries. It was said that a wizard’s power came from his direct ancestor, the fallen angels, the nephilim. However, none of this was provable.

“Have you never been compared to the legendary creatures, my lady, with your purity of blood, your molten hair, and your violet eyes?”

She sucked in a breath. “Peverell, I—“

“Don’t speak,” he murmured, coming close to her and, after hesitating, taking her two hands in his. “Mountains rise and fall on my command. I do not deny this. The fortune of your family is fated to my whims; it is true. However, you need not worry for their favor when it comes to us. There are bound to be misunderstandings, setbacks, and the ever present notion of Young Malfoy that I may never be able to escape.”

“That is gracious of you,” she admitted. Looking down at their hands and his spindly fingers, she then glanced away.

“You still fear me,” he surmised. “Not before, but as a lover. I can comprehend why. I wish I looked much as I did at Hogwarts. Then you would find me handsome at the very least.”

Taking a deep breath, she looked him directly in the eyes. “This may be premature, but I keep photographs near my bed. The Malfoys, one of Draco in particular, my parents… you’re a suitor. You should be among them.”

“I will find one for my lady from my youth,” he promised. “Only Dumbledore should recognize it.”

“I doubt he would ever come looking among my photographs,” she reasoned. “I’m afraid it’s nearly lunch. I promised an afternoon with Hermione Granger and my cousin Selenadora. It is important that I stay close to Harry Potter without encouraging his affections.”

He picked up her hand and lifted it to just below where his lips would have been. “Lady Imbolc,” he murmured.

She didn’t bother to answer him. Instead, she turned and made her way back to the house. Imbolc was only too aware of his gaze on her.

…

“What is it like?” Selenadora asked as they walked in the back gardens. Kreacher, in his love for both Imbolc and Selenadora, had trimmed the hedges and replanted the roses that had been present in Imbolc’s childhood.

Her cousin barely had traces of a French accent. Imbolc wondered if it was because she had tutors in the English language as a child. She knew from Father that her mother, Alix Vilaneuve, was dying from some magical disease, so had sent her to her closest relative.

Imbolc looked at Selenadora. “What is what like?” she asked in confusion.

“Being courted? I was an unfavored granddaughter in France. Here I am a favored niece of one of the four Lords. Surely, it is not completely out of the realm of possibilities.”

“No,” Imbolc said quickly. “No, it’s not. However, we are talking about Harry Potter.”

Selenadora blushed.

“I thought as much. Unfortunately, his affections lie elsewhere. They are not returned, far from it, but you’ll have to battle a ghost. A living one.”

“Who?”

Imbolc didn’t know what to say. At that point, Hermione found them.

“What are we talking about?”

“Harry Potter,” Imbolc said plainly.

“Is he still annoying you, Imbolc?”

She shared a look with Selenadora, who couldn’t be more different from her than she tried. The girl even played Quidditch. Then again, that could work in her favor.

“I should go find Draco,” she murmured to no one in particular. Making her way through the hedges, she became lost in her own thoughts. Then, there was a hand around her waist and she was pulled behind a hedge. “What?” she demanded only to see Draco grinning down at her.

“A stolen moment?” he begged, and then she was leaning up on her tiptoes and kissing him sweetly.

She snaked her arms around his neck and they were smiling at each other. “Hello, Draco,” she greeted.

“Immy,” he murmured before stealing another kiss. “No one can find us here,” he whispered, meaning the Dark Lord.

“Only Father,” she refuted and he looked affronted. However, she kissed him again until they were utterly lost in each other.

Little did she know, but Draco was stunned in the library, his clothes stripped from him, a bit of hair taken from his head. A discarded glass was lying by his body.

When Sirius opened the door to find him, he smelled the glass. Polyjuice potion. He smiled to himself. It seemed Harry was more resourceful than he thought. This was truly worthy of a Marauder.


	8. Part the Seventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imbolc and Voldemort's relationship deepens ...

**Part the Seventh—  
** _“But the monsters turned out to be just trees, And when the sun came up, you were looking at me.”  
_ **—“Out of the Woods,” Taylor Swift  
**

It was only the end of July, and Imbolc had been summoned to the Headmaster’s office. She stared at the note for several long minutes before handing it to her Uncle Lucius over breakfast.

He was eating an egg and blotted his mouth and took it up. “Strange,” he murmured. “You’re a minor until February, so I’ll accompany you.”

“I just—whatever could it be about? I’m around enough for those blasted Order Meetings at Father’s house.” Her hair was in its usual twists that fell to her shoulders. “He’s always officiating. He could just call me in then.”

“Perhaps it’s something more delicate than that,” Lacerta offered. She’d be going into her fourth year in Slytherin this year. She looked every inch Draco’s sister. They had the same platinum blond hair, pointed faces, high cheekbones. The only thing that differed was that Draco had his mother’s gray eyes while Lacerta had inherited her father’s icy blue. Imbolc was positive that Lacerta would be a heartbreaker for her fortune alone when she came of courting age next summer.

“Whatever can be more delicate?” Draco insisted. “It’s utterly preposterous!”

“Well, we shall just find out, won’t we?” Aunt Narcissa said from her seat at the table. “We have only to wait until—this afternoon, was it?”

“Yes,” Lucius answered. “Imbolc, you must firecall the Dark Lord and inform him of your ambiguous plans as he planned to take you out tonight.”

Draco attacked his Canadian bacon. Even little Io noticed.

“I’ll just do that now,” she murmured, getting up from the table. Imbolc decided to be a little bold and do more than firecall. She stepped fully into the flames and entered a beautiful room, if that’s what it could be called, given that instead of walls it had pillars that opened up into marble open space. There were two blue couches facing each other, perpendicular to the floo, and then a green armchair parallel to it at the end. There was a green carpet in between them. The room had no ceiling. Instead hallways seemed to border it each floor up, leaving it open to a skylight above.

“Peverell?” she called. Moving forward she took to a staircase and felt the marble beneath her fingers.

She found him in an office on the third floor. She recognized it as the room one usually floo called into. “Peverell,” she greeted, pushing the door open. The room was in lush reds and mahoganies.

He looked up, his snake face as stark as always. “Lady Imbolc,” he greeted. “I was not expecting you.”

Hesitating in the doorway, she bit her lip. “I hope it’s not an unwanted surprise. Uncle Lucius had a message and I thought I’d come through instead of just firecalling.”

He looked at her calculatingly. “You were curious about my home in case it would one day become yours,” he guessed correctly.

“Can you blame me? You’re so enigmatic, and you can learn so much about a person through their home. Where are all the portraits?” She hadn’t seen a single one on her way to the office.

“Burnt,” he admitted casually. The thought horrified her. “Now, tell me, what is the message, and then I will give you a personalized tour.”

“Oh, it’s Dumbledore. He’s called me in personally for a ‘chat’.”

The Dark Lord surged forward. “That half-blood dares,” he began before he closed his eyes and calmed himself. “My name is Mal Peverell if that is what is needed, m’lady.”

“Mal,” she tried it in her mouth. “I think another name hides behind it.”

“How perceptive of you,” he complimented. “However, to you I am ‘Mal,’ from this moment on.”

“I cannot offer you a similar diminuitive of ‘Imbolc,’” she responded. “Draco’s called me ‘Immy’ since before my mother was murdered, but I would not give that name away.”

“No,” he agreed, standing. “That’s family. Why were you named after the holiday?”

“I was born during its late night hours. My mother was named Lux for ‘light,’ after Uncle Lucius, and she thought it fitting that I be named for Winter’s Light.”

“Then, by your leave, I will call you ‘Winter’.” He sketched her a short bow and ushered her out of the study.

“I find I do not dislike it,” she murmured, taking his arm.

…

Imbolc had appeared at the Manor before lunch so no one had noticed her absence. The appointment with Dumbledore had her worried, but she tried not to let it show. Instead, she merely looked in the mirror, wondering how she had gotten to the place where she now found herself.

An owl fluttered to her window, and she opened it. There she found a package and the owl did not wait for her. Opening it, she was so startled she almost dropped it. Curled in around itself was a pink fairy. Fairies were used for night lights and were rare. To have one was an incredible status symbol, even if one wasn’t afraid of the dark.

“Aunt,” she called as she hurried down the hall to find Narcissa. “A fairy! He actually got me a fairy!”

She was, of course, vaguely familiar with the Headmaster’s office. As a prefect, she had found herself there once or twice. Still, she felt like a truant. It did help that he had tea. Imbolc was about to accept a cup, when Lucius stilled her hand.

“What is this about?” he asked. “Let us forget the pleasantries.”

Dumbledore sighed and put down his teacup. “A few highly placed individuals were curious about these.” He opened a drawer and removed a few international papers, all of them featuring Imbolc. “Sirius, of course, knows nothing, only that she is now being courted by some second wizard. Who is he, might I ask?”

“That is hardly—“ Lucius began, but Imbolc cut him off.

“Mal Peverell. He squired me to all the events in the papers. He’s quite the international figure.”

“These are events the Minister of Magic isn’t even invited to.”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t possibly comment. I usually don’t speak the language so I’m a bit confused when someone asks me to dance while Mal goes off and talks politics, for all I can tell. Maybe they’re discussing curtains. It could be anything.”

“Peverell,” Dumbledore said doubtfully.

“You didn’t think the line died out, did you? There were three brothers after all. He’s never told me which one he’s descended from. Death stick, resurrection stone, or the invisibility cloak. I much fancy borrowing the cloak. Imagine the impact it could have since I’m a prefect.”

“Quite,” Dumbledore responded, looking at her now in curiosity.

Lucius looked between the two of them, and cleared his throat. “If that’s all?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, shooing them away. “Please submit the necessary paperwork for this second courtship. May I see the ring?”

Imbolc hesitated but Lucius nodded. Holding out her hand, she showed Dumbledore the ring. He sucked in the breath. “I think you’re within possession of one of the hallows already, Miss Black.”

She exchanged glances with her uncle.

“I doubt that,” Lucius said. “Peverell is not a frivolous man. He would not give up something so precious to someone who’s not a certainty.”

“Then he must not consider Mr. Malfoy a threat,” Dumbledore decided, releasing the hand. “Thank you for coming.”

The two were utterly bewildered as they floo’ed back to Malfoy Manor.

“I’m not testing it!” she cried. “It’s utterly preposterous.”

“The Dark Lord has never before revealed a name, and he gives you the name Peverell. Tell me you don’t see the significance.”

“He’s just from a family older than the Malfoys!” she cried. “We always knew his blood was unmatched, this is just proof—and I’m not testing the ring. I refuse to see the shade of my mother. Plus, it’s just a silly fairy story.”

Lucius looked at her sadly. “Go find one of your cousins. I’m sure they’ll be wanting you.”

However, if she found her cousins, she knew she would run into Draco. She was almost positive, in fact, that she would find Draco. She sat down at her private writing desk in her rooms, ready to pick up the unicorn pen to write to Apricot about the rollercoaster romance she had no idea what to do with, when she saw it. Blown in wizard glass, so there were no lines or imperfections, was a perfect cat that was curled up.

She touched it carefully and like true wizarding glass, it was like ice to the touch.

There was a small note next to it and she immediately recognized the handwriting as Draco’s: To remind you of Valentinus on her nightly escapades. DBM.

The gift made her cry. Her form only stopped shivering when Peverell’s owl came for her. She went to her window and opened it. It was simple. An invitation to dinner with a floo address and a time the following evening. He wanted to give her the night off considering her trial with Dumbledore.

It seemed she would never escape. She would always be caught between her two suitors.

…

They were walking by the pond where there was the swing. “Io comes to Hogwarts this year,” Draco mused. “It will be strange. All four of us will be at Hogwarts for two years straight.”

“These are uncertain times, though,” Imbolc noted. “Who knows what could happen?”

“What have you seen?” he asked slyly.

“Darkness,” she answered. “I think we’re going to hide during the battle. Not choose sides, wait to see who’s victorious.”

“You say this even when your suitor is the Dark Lord?”

“Peverell gave me immunity and granted you with an unblemished arm. Lacerta and Io are far too young.”

“What of that other cousin of yours, Selenadora?”

Draco led her to the swing and she sat down on it. She smiled up at him and their lips brushed softly.

“She’s the wild card,” Imbolc admitted. “I don’t know what to do about her. All she seems to want to talk about is courting and Harry Potter—and, really, the entire thing gives me a headache. I tried to tell her about how we wear our hair here, how it shows respect for magic, but nothing.” She sighed. “She’s going to look to the entire Hogwarts population like a common heathen.”

“You defy pureblood styles,” Draco reminded her.

“I play with them,” she qualified. “There’s a difference. Her hair is completely free. People are going to think her a common Muggleborn and she’s a Black! I also don’t see her being sorted into Slytherin, and she needs to be there given her disrespect for pureblood traditions. Slytherin would protect her.”

“She’s not going to make Slytherin,” Draco agreed, “or Ravenclaw. I don’t know the other houses well enough to figure out where she’ll end up.”

“If she has any say, it will be Gryffindor and close to that blasted Potter. She better not undo all that work I’ve done.”

Draco kissed the crown of her head. “No one could do that, darling. He’s too besotted with you.”

“I seem to have that effect,” she said darkly. “Thank you for the wizard glass cat. It was truly thoughtful.”

“I know how dear Valentinus is,” he murmured. “He’s probably your only confidante through this entire process.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “He offers no judgment and his feelings cannot be wounded.”

“I wish I could be there for you,” Draco told her honestly. “I wish, for you sake, I weren’t in love with you so that I could help you navigate the waters of being the Dark Lord’s chosen.”

“Don’t say that,” she murmured with tears in her eyes. “Your love is my constant.” She took his hand and squeezed and then, impulsively kissed it. “I know that, for now, I only love you as a cousin, but I know I’m falling in love with you, Draco. That’s what’s making this so difficult. He’s not just some lover I can scorn—he’s the Dark Lord and—he tells me not to fear him, but how cannot not feel some form of—?”

“Hush,” Draco murmured, turning her around and kissing her lips softly. “I understand. When you’re with him, you must promise that I do not exist, to keep yourself safe. And when you’re with me, he never has had a right to you, because our hearts beat together.”

She nodded shakily, and then he was kissing her again, his hands on her jaw.

…

They were standing out on a balcony after dinner. House elves had served them exclusively and Imbolc had not seen another human. “Where are we?” she asked, as she looked out over well-manicured lawns.

“A follower’s home. He was more than gratified to lend it to me for the night and to give you your anonymity.”

“Tell him I thank him then, whoever he is,” she quipped. Imbolc refused to look at Peverell.

“What have I done,” he asked carefully, “to upset my lady?”

“Do you often dine in the company of ladies, who are not drunk off of sake?” she inquired, her violet eyes flashing although he could not see them.

He paused. “You are the first in a great many years.”

“You talk to us,” she told him, turning toward his imposing figure. “Silent dinners are bad dinners. This reminded me of dining with my father.”

“You dislike dining with Lord Black,” Peverell determined.

She sighed. “That is not the topic of conversation, Mal.”

“Perhaps I wish to learn more about you, Winter,” he said, a little testily. “I may have failed at dinner as a conversationalist, but that does not mean that I have to fail now.” He snapped his fingers and two flutes of champagne appeared. “To your continued health.”

She took a sip. “I dislike my father,” she admitted. “He calls me ‘Lux’. I find it disturbing.”

He paused. “I do not wish to ruin the fairytale of your parents’ marriage, but you are, of course, aware that your grandmother, who is your Uncle Lucius’s elder sister, Madeleine Kingsley, was my spy. What you may not know is that Lux, Heiress Sirius Black, was also a spy for my cause and accepted your father’s suit at my bidding. She was disturbed by the fact they were godsiblings. I have no doubt, however, that she truly cared for you. The story of her death is one of a woman impassioned, not one protecting a child simply because it is a child of worth.”

“James and Lily Potter were right,” she said in horror.

“Yes,” Peverell mused. “Sirius would come home from Order meetings, he would confess to his wife almost everything, and she would in turn give me the information.”

“My mother was a whore,” Imbolc whispered in realization.

“No,” Peverell denied quickly. “Never that. A whore takes money for sex. Taking secrets for your country is a far nobler process.”

Imbolc quickly finished her champagne. “I think I need another.”

He snapped his fingers and another was provided for her.

“Is Mal your real name?” she asked after a time.

“No. Dumbledore would have recognized it, so I shortened it. It pleases me to hear ‘Mal’ on your lips.”

“I looked into the future,” she said quietly, her mind turning back to the battle.

His head snapped to hers. “What did you see?”

“There’s this stone at Hogwarts, on the sixth floor, that if you tap the right way, opens to reveal a hiding area. My Malfoy cousins and I hide in it. I don’t know if Selenadora is with us.”

“Go on,” he murmured, gesturing with his glass.

“We hide in there during the battle. Lacerta and Iolanthe are too little, you see, and you allow Draco to guard me.—Only you and Harry Potter know the secret hiding place and the victor is to let us out. The future is too unclear to show me whose face comes through the door.”

“Your immunity,” Peverell guessed.

“It’s much more than that,” Imbolc breathes. “Do you truly want to know?”

He nodded, the candlelight showing his snake face. 

“You must be fond of me still if it’s Draco, but I’m married to one of you, and I’m carrying the next heir to the house.”

“And I would want to protect both the heir to the houses of Malfoy and Peverell,” he surmised. He was looking at her intently.

“It’s a boy,” she rattled on. “I haven’t decided on a name if it’s a Malfoy. Lux perhaps for Mother. It can be a boy’s name. Now, if he’s a Peverell, then perhaps—“

He discarded her champagne, wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her softly. It was strange being kissed by someone without lips. Her nose could go straight on without turning, but she chose to turn anyway, perhaps out of habit, perhaps because she found it more romantic, and she kissed him back.

Peverell was bolder than Draco, whose kisses were always chaste. Instead, his tongue poked forward and breached her lips. She was uncertain what to do, but his warm tongue teased hers, stroking it, and she just let him, until his tongue seemed to beckon hers forward. When she pulled back, she gasped. “I—no one—is that?”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “That is how a wizard kisses a lady,” he informed her.

She tried to get her breathing under her control before she finally smiled and said, “Perseus. Perseus Lux Peverell. Does that suit?” 

He leaned forward until they were breathing the same air, and he murmured, “I find, Winter, that it more than eminently suits.”

Then he was kissing her again, and she was grasping his shoulder with one hand and the back of his head with another. Imbolc found she didn’t want him to stop kissing her. Their tongues entwined and although she was a little clumsy at first, he honestly didn’t seem to care. All that mattered was that she was in his arms and he was holding her like she was more precious than the largest Gringotts vault.

“Dream of me tonight,” he demanded when he pulled away again. She was still in his arms and she must have been looking up at him with her large violet eyes.

“Do you dream of me?” she asked a little desperately.

“When I’m not dreaming of the horrors of Muggles,” he answered enigmatically.

…

Sirius ordered rose tea just the way she liked it. Back at Malfoy Manor, Imbolc had claimed a headache before slipping out to an Apparition point and had come here, to Grimmauld Place. Really, she didn’t know what she was doing.

“Lux, what is it?” Sirius asked.

Harry looked over at her sympathetically.

“I’ve got a problem, Father, and I can’t go to Aunt Narcissa about it. You courted Mother, right?”

“Not as such,” he admitted. “She was being courted by someone else. Then I kind of swooped in and stole her just after I turned seventeen. We had the dispensations all ready by the time I graduated sixth year and she graduated seventh.”

Imbolc paused. “She had to wait a year for you to finish Hogwarts?”

“Could have been worse.” Sirius shrugged. “We were madly in love.”

“Of course,” she murmured. Imbolc wondered how her mother was able to fake it.

Selenadora still had her hair down and was now wearing a garland. Imbolc feared what Peverell would say if he saw her.

“What is it, then?” Harry asked.

That drew her from her thoughts. Setting down her teacup, she looked up around the circle. “I won’t pretend to be coy. I’m sure Dumbledore told you that my other suitor is not a French wizard but a Peverell.”

“Yes,” Sirius said, slightly happily. “Is that the Resurrection Stone on your hand?”

“No idea,” she answered truthfully, “and I have no intention of finding out.—We—We had dinner last night. I was talking about something I saw in my tarot cards. I’ll tell you about it, Harry, when the time comes, and he was so happy that he—kissed me.” She seemed utterly flabbergasted.

“Is it not usual for wizards to kiss witches?” Selenadora asked Harry.

“He kissed Cho,” Imbolc put in helpfully.

“How can you possibly—?”

She sighed. “I have a mastery in Tarot Cards. I see things. You may think you told no one or only a handful of individuals, but a Clairvoyant knows.” Her violet eyes sparkled at him. “And, Selenadora, it is customary for courting couples to kiss. I’ve kissed Draco in the gardens here.”

Harry suddenly looked decidedly uncomfortable, which caught Imbolc’s attention.

“I don’t understand the problem then,” Sirius stated.

Imbolc was afraid of this. “It was more. It wasn’t just lips.”

Sirius then started laughing. “You snogged a Peverell. This is priceless.”

“I did not!” she said resolutely. “Mal is far too stately to snog like a common Muggle-born.”

“A pureblood is never too stately,” Sirius told her. “Let me guess, it was more heated, your tongues got involved, they moved back and forth a bit, you were out of breath at the end of it. Does this sound at all familiar?”

She blushed. “I—yes. But it wasn’t so sordid! It was quite romantic, which is part of the problem. Why doesn’t Draco ever kiss me that way?”

“He may not know how,” Harry said, his face slightly pink. “How many people has he kissed? Apart from you?”

“No one,” she admitted.

“And this Peverell?”

“I thought it would be rude to ask,” she murmured.

“I take it,” Sirius said delicately, “that he’s older than you and Draco, perhaps by a few decades? To be an international figure, he would need to be.”

Selenadora then asked the dreaded question. “Is he handsome?”

“Oh,” Imbolc said. “He’s distinguished.”

“But you don’t mind snogging him,” Harry then put in, his ears pinking.

“I thought I would, but no. Definitely not. I was rather sorry when it ended. Oh, by the old gods, what am I going to do about Draco?”

Sirius set down his cup and sat up straight. “I don’t have much experience with this, but it drove me insane when Lux would bring her other suitor’s experiences into our lives in any way. Let Draco kiss you the way he’s been kissing you. Don’t expand his horizons, unless you marry him. Then it’s your right to get as much—enjoyment—as possible. Also, please choose this Peverell. He sounds like he has the true Marauding spirit.”

Imbolc couldn’t help it: she laughed. If only her father knew he was talking about the Dark Lord.

“I doubt I’m going to choose before I take my N.E.W.T.s,” she lied, remembering the vision in her crystal ball of the end of her seventh year when she was already pregnant. “So, I have two years left, Father.”

“When do we get to meet him?” Selenadora asked.

“You don’t,” she responded calmly. “He’s a bit of a recluse unless it comes to his politics.”

…

“I’m glad your headache’s better,” Draco murmured as they followed Io along the back gardens.

“It still lingers a bit,” she lied, “but the fresh air was calling to me.” Imbolc smiled at him. “I heard you speaking to Uncle Lucius earlier after breakfast. You have an audience with the Dark Lord.”

“Did he mention it to you?” he asked, looking at her anxiously.

She shook her head. “Be careful,” she begged. “You know how important you are to me.”

“Remember how you used to sneak into my bedroom and we used to use our practice wands to cast Lumos and read those Muggle comics we got from somewhere?” Draco asked, laughing.

“We were incorrigible,” she agreed. “If only we could go back to such innocent times.”

“We’ll always have each other,” he promised, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “Even if the worst happens, and you are forced to marry another, I’ll always be here, waiting.”

“Always?” she asked a little desperately.

“Always,” he confirmed.

Io continued to skip ahead of them, her golden curls tied up on her head in blue ribbons. 

“Hufflepuff,” Imbolc decided. “I’ll bet you ten galleons.”

“I’m afraid you might be right,” Draco sighed. “I’ll take it on principle though.”


	9. Part the Eighth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Lord continues to woo Imbolc - Imbolc goes back to Hogwarts - and the vampires aren't quite so friendly as they usually are, or are they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter features OFF SCREEN VIOLENCE. Just know it happens, there's a happy ending, and Mal proves true to Imbolc through it all.

**Part the Eighth—** _  
“That I’m not a princess, This ain’t a fairytale, I’m not the one you’ll sweep off her feet, Lead her up the stairwell.”_ **  
—“White Horse,” Taylor Swift**

“I have a present for you.” The voice was sibilant and calm and so unexpected that Imbolc dropped her silverware. The family was in the breakfast nook and she could see that Draco’s eyes had gone wide.

She turned her head and asked, “Am I allowed to finish my breakfast or does this gift have a time limit set on it?”

He laughed his smooth cool laugh and he kissed the arch of her exposed neck. “I would never presume to halt a lady’s breakfast.”

Uncle Lucius immediately vacated his chair and offered it to the Dark Lord, taking his plate with him. Peverell settled into the seat and surveyed the family. “Lady Iolanthe,” he commented, “I hear you are going to Hogwarts this year. Are you excited?”

She squeaked.

“She’s very excited, Mal,” Imbolc told him, cutting her egg. “We’ve all made a game of trying to discern which house she’ll be in.”

“I favor Slytherin, myself, though I am his descendant,” Peverell admitted. “Your cousin, Lady Iolanthe, though, I believe, does Ravenclaw an honor by her presence.” He gave Imbolc his approximation of a smile and she offered one in return.

Draco looked between them for any clues as to their relationship, and didn’t seem to like what he found.

When breakfast was finished, Peverell led her out onto the grounds and then behind a tree. “This cannot possibly be my present!” she cried, but he placed a hand above her head, another at her waist, and he kissed her in that strange, wonderful way that he did.

She hadn’t realized her eyes had closed until they fluttered open again. “Someone might see.”

“Let them,” he said in his attractive voice. “I’m courting you. I have every right to kiss you.” His red eyes flashed.

“On my family estate?” she asked. “Where the other wizard I’m courting also resides?”

“Why do you think I employed the tree?” he smirked. “I didn’t have to, Winter.”

“Mal,” she argued, but then he was kissing her again. Her hands reached up and grasped the fabric of his black robes around his shoulders, and that only prodded him to pull her closer to him. “Hmm,” she sighed, when he released her. “Why the black? You usually wear it.”

“It frightens my Death Eaters when they compare it to my skin,” he answered truthfully.

She reached up and the back of her hand brushed his cheek. “To look at you, one would think you had a reptile’s cold blood. However, you’re just as warm blooded as any wizard, Mal.”

“Did you have to convince yourself that I’m a man?” he murmured as he leaned down and gently kissed her.

“Every time I see you,” she admitted. “You’re the all powerful Dark Lord who has Britain on her knees. Everyone whispers as to whether or not you’re back. It’s only a matter of time before you give them confirmation.”

“To you I’m ‘Mal’. To no other mortal, not even the courtesans I frequented before my disappearance, did I give that name.”

Her violet eyes searched his. “Courtesans?”

“Look at me,” he breathed in her ear. “Who would make love to a face like mine but a woman paid to do so?”

“You haven’t, not since we—“ she checked, her hand moving upward to stroke his cheek. “Please say you have not dishonored me so.”

“I have not,” he promised, his hand moving up her arm until it clasped the hand by his cheek. “How could I when I had the hope of you?”

Her eyes flicked down and she breathed out. “Hope,” she murmured. “You’ve so confused me, Mal,” she admitted. 

“Then let me remind you why you should fall in love with me,” he whispered before taking her lips with his own. She mewed into the kiss and he laughed slightly. Yes, Imbolc decided, she was snogging the Dark Lord, and she couldn’t seem to mind.

When he pulled away, smiling down at her, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stables. 

“Mal!” she cried. “What are you about?”

“Read this morning’s Prophet,” he told her. “You’ll see that prize racing Abraxan Elizabeth Woodville has been sold, and she is now yours.” He showed her to a stall and she stared down at a beautiful mare. It was perfectly gray, which was unheard of, even by the most exclusive breeders.

“You bought me Elizabeth Woodville?” she asked in astonishment. “But I always just borrow—“

“A lady of your standing should have her own Abraxan,” he told her resolutely, his eyes twinkling at her happiness. “I asked your Uncle Lucius, and he quite agreed with me.—Now, go get your riding leathers on. I’m sure you want to take this beauty for a ride.”

“I—“ She reached for him and kissed him deeply, losing herself in the kiss as he pulled her toward him by the waist and her arms wrapped around his neck. “I’ve done a reading,” she exclaimed, as she walked back to the Manor, his arm around her waist.

“You know I would never ask, now that we’re courting—“

“But I can still tell,” she reminded him with a smile. “There’s a Battle at Hogwarts at the end of the year. It’s not the final battle; that comes a year later. This Battle, though, you come through a cabinet and you find Dumbledore and kill him. Potter is hidden and sees what you’ll do. There will be other witnesses and someone will catch a picture of you and you’ll be in The Daily Prophet the next day.”

“Where are you?”

“Hidden, in that dark place,” she told him. “I don’t know who’s meant to let me out.”

“We’ll have it sorted,” he promised, tweaking her nose. “I’ll have some Death Eater’s spawn let you out.”

“But my anonymity?”

“Draco Malfoy then,” he decided. “You won’t need guarding as of yet. I won’t be able to let you out if I must make my escape, though I suppose you can always ask Potter.”

She shrugged as they walked down toward the smoking room. “You may wait in here,” she told him, opening the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Closing the door, she almost screamed when she turned around and saw Draco.

“Don’t,” she begged. “I don’t want anything confused. Right now I’m with him.”

Draco nodded to her once before putting his hands in his pockets and walking away.

…

“He gave me an Abraxan,” Imbolc confessed to her father. “You would have read about it in the paper: Elizabeth Woodville.”

Sirius almost choked on his coffee.

“They speculated that millions of galleons were spent on her.”

“I know,” she said sadly. “What am I to do? Peverell keeps lavishing me with gifts and dinners and balls, while Draco is always quietly there. I don’t know what I feel anymore. When Peverell first gave me the courting ring, I cried and cried and now I don’t want to go to Hogwarts and be away from him.”

“And what of Malfoy?” Selenadora asked carefully. “What do you feel about him?”

Imbolc sighed. “I was ready to marry him at the beginning of summer. Now I just don’t know.”

…

Draco held her hand as they boarded the train, Lacy and Io in front of them. “Another year,” he murmured as they headed to the prefect’s compartment.

“Another year,” she agreed, squeezing his hand.

She was surprised when she was invited, along with Draco, to a luncheon with Professor Slughorn. She sat primly and properly next to Harry to show him her continued support in his endeavors, and he smiled at her. He took her free hand and squeezed it.

Imbolc stared at him accusingly.

Still, there was nothing for it. She would remain close to Harry Potter and she would put up with his attentions.

…

Imbolc was running down the hall, blood seeping from the left side of her face, her arm, and her leg. Her white dress robes were in tatters. She could hear footsteps behind her, but she honestly didn’t know who was following her. She had to get somewhere safe, somewhere few people knew about.

Grasping along the wall, she found the stone that opened to the hiding place. She quickly pressed herself inside and took a deep, shuddering breath. Imbolc hoped Draco or somebody knew to look for her there. Otherwise she’d be trapped in here for an eternity, with no food and no water. She doubted even house elves could get in.

Sighing, she pressed her hand to her face and felt the claw marks there. She closed her eyes in pain and remembered the incident in horror.

Slughorn had introduced her to Sanguini, the vampire in attendance at his Yule Party, and he had lunged at her and attacked her. The entire left side of her body was ravaged. Who would want her now except for her money? she thought bitterly. Surely not even Harry Potter.

It took hours for someone to find her and strangely it was Potter. He looked at her in horror and helped her out of her hiding place.

“Is he gone?” she asked in barely more than a whisper.

“Yes,” Harry answered. “We must get you to Madam Pomfrey.”

She laughed hollowly. “No,” she disagreed. “Professor Snape.”

Potter looked at her oddly but brought her to the former Potions instructor who cleaned the blood away from her skin. “A vampire did this?” he qualified.

At her nod, he swore under his breath. He had her lie down and applied strips of cloth covered in some neon blue cream that made the gashes sting. Next thing she knew, Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa were by her side. Lucius gently kissed her forehead, before swearing that he’d make them pay, and then they were gone.

Imbolc promised that she wouldn’t cry, but tears nonetheless formed in her eyes.

“Immy,” Draco said, coming up to her. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Potter found me,” she explained. “I was hiding in the dark place and you didn’t come.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stroking the hair away from her forehead. “I was casting every dark curse I could think of on that monster—well, every one that wouldn’t get me expelled.” He smiled wryly at her.

She found she couldn’t smile back.

It was days before Imbolc was allowed back among the general public. Potter was mainly by her side, not minding that she didn’t talk back to him, nattering on about how Dumbledore had been sacked and McGonagall was the new Headmistress. Draco had been there the first day. Then he had disappeared like a lethifold.

Apparently, McGonagall was still teaching transfiguration as they had yet to find a suitable replacement.

It was her first morning back and she couldn’t bear the stares. She sat eating her porridge, trying to ignore everyone, and was hyper aware of her scars.

Then there was a disturbance in the back of the room and she looked up with everyone else. There, for some unknown reason, was a delegation of vampires. A shiver ran down Imbolc’s spine as they approached her and stopped directly in front of her.

Squeezing Apricot’s hand, she stood and faced the leader. “May I help you?” she asked.

He sketched a rather gallant bow. “Lady Imbolc,” he said, his voice deep and wonderful. “I come on behalf of vampires to show true contrition.”

“Contrition,” she stated. She knew that everyone could hear her, but she was curious. “How can you offer me contrition? A witch’s beauty shows her power and mine has been marred beyond recognition.”

“To a vampire, it is not the case,” he stated. “Your scars show that you are a survivor. However, we bring you these.” He motioned a vampire forward who brought with him many bolts of what appeared to be silks. “To adorn yourself with on your many international travels, my lady.”

She nodded at the gift and then another vampire came forward. He was holding a large urn made of silver and deep blue. “Myrrh,” the vampire stated. “If you place it upon the scars on your face and other parts of your body, they will become beautiful. This should be enough to last you three lifetimes. All you need do is to barely coat your fingers before applying it.”

Imbolc was genuinely startled. “Why do you give these gifts to me?” she asked in confusion. “I am but one human who has encountered a vampire.”

“You are the chosen consort of the man who calls himself Peverell,” he answered. “Is that not reason enough?”

“I suppose it is,” she reasoned. “I would have you deliver the cloths to Malfoy Manor and leave the urn with me, if that would not greatly inconvenience you.”

“Not at all, my lady,” he answered gallantly.

The urn was placed in her hand and she felt the heaviness of it. Forgetting about breakfast, she walked out of the hallway and toward Ravenclaw tower.

“Immy,” Draco said, meeting her at the door. “You can’t trust vampires.”

“Peverell sent them,” she argued back.

“Theoretically,” he told her. “How can you be sure?

She looked away from him. “Draco,” she whispered. “I’m scarred. Even I can tell you don’t look at me the same way. You might as well just end your courtship. Here, I’ll make it easy on you.” She held the urn with one arm and took off his courtship ring. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” she demanded. “I never thought I’d say it, but even Harry Potter is more wizard than you are. He’s been by my side every step of the way. You may have come the first day to assuage your conscience, but he kept on coming. Do you know what that’s like, Draco? To be abandoned not only by your courted but by your best friend and cousin?” She wouldn’t cry, she simply wouldn’t.

When he said nothing, she simply pushed past him toward the stairs. Imbolc didn’t even bother to say that she would see him in class later that day. Hopefully, Apricot would let her sit with her.

The dorm room was empty and she set the urn on the vanity. Carefully Imbolc opened it and she dipped to fingers into it. It was creamy and just barely coated her fingers. Carefully, she turned her head in the mirror and traced her scars. At first nothing happened, and she almost kicked something in her frustration.

Then the scars began to shimmer and before her eyes they turned from an ugly purple to an enchanting gold. Peverell had done it! He had given her something priceless. Yes, the scars were still thick ropes on the side of her face, but they now shimmered gold and shone with power. Looking down at her right wrist and hand, where the same scars were present, she layered them with the same myrrh on her fingers. The same marvelous thing occurred. Next was her leg that wasn’t hidden by her skirt or her socks. 

In the end she looked like a female Adonis. Seeing she had only ten minutes to class, she quickly stowed the urn away and washed her fingers.

It was with a new strength of spirit that she descended the stairs down to Potions.

…

The note was short and simple. It read: I’m still in love with you. I never stopped. DBM.

She folded it up and took a deep breath. Honestly, Imbolc didn’t know what to do.

She met him by their favorite oak tree. “I’m here,” she stated a little brusquely. “Honestly, it’s getting a little disgusting watching my cousin moon over Harry Potter.”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Draco begged. “I want to talk about ‘us’.”

“There is no ‘us’,” she shot back. “I already wrote to Uncle Lucius about how our courtship ended.”

“But you didn’t write to the Dark Lord,” he surmised, “even though he’s your magical guardian in all things.”

She toed the ground. It was true. Something had held her back. The night she had received the myrrh, she had written a long, eight page letter to Peverell about how thankful she was, and how her scars were no longer an ugly purple but a glorious gold.

“I want to marry you,” he said into the silence, and she looked up in shock. “The reason why I didn’t find you was because I was cursing the hell out of that vampire, avenging your honor. The reason why I didn’t stay by your side is I couldn’t stand to see you in such pain. Perhaps it was cowardly of me, I know that now, but I do love you, whether your scars are a disgusting purple or a brilliant gold. I don’t need tricks to love you. I love you for better or worse, as the Muggles would say.”

“Then prove it,” she whispered. “I don’t need fancy gifts. I just need—“

Then he took her cheek in his hand and he kissed her, not deeply like Peverell, but truly. When they broke apart, he asked quietly, “Does that help? I couldn’t kiss you like that if I didn’t feel something for you.”

“No,” she agreed. “I suppose you couldn’t.”

Her mind immediately flickered to Peverell, but she forced it to remain where it was.

“I can give you freedom,” he whispered. “He can only bring war and possible destruction. We can be free of it all.”

“I bought you your freedom,” she argued back at him. “I also know you’re part of the attack on the school sometime this year. Don’t play coy with me.”

He sighed and looked at the ground.

“Who’s letting me out of my hiding place?”

“The Dark Lord is telling Harry Potter where you are, suggesting that he captured you and put you there.”

She rolled her eyes. “Potter will be insufferable after that. I may even have to kiss him.”

“Not if I get to you first,” he murmured, taking her hand and drawing her in close. “Friends?”

“Just friends,” she agreed.

…

She waited in the hole in the castle wall, hearing the fighting going on around her. Imbolc had taken Lacy and Iolanthe with her, not bearing the idea of them getting caught in the crossfire. 

Then everything went silent, and Imbolc knew she only had to wait. It was half an hour before there was rushing and then the stone opened that would release them and she saw the flushed face of Harry Potter.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, only half seriously. She let him help them each out and looked around them at the bodies lying around them. “What happened?”

“Death Eaters,” he explained. “Dumbledore had come back for a ‘chat’ with McGonagall”—that was clearly a lie—“and they somehow knew.”

She put her hands on Lacy and Io’s shoulders. “Back to your common rooms, immediately,” she told them. “Io, I can walk you down to Hufflepuff if you like. I don’t want you seeing such things.”

Potter, of course, elected to go with them. They first dropped off Io and then looped around to Slytherin to where Lacy was going, and then Potter and Imbolc headed up the stairs.

“What really happened?” she questioned, looking at him with her violet eyes, making them as big and vulnerable as possible.

“Voldemort came,” he answered. “I don’t know how he got through the wards. Malfoy, most likely.” They looked at each other. “Sorry, I know he’s your cousin, but he’s been hanging out on the seventh floor all year.”

True, he had. She’d asked about it a few times at the beginning of the year, but after the incident with Sanguini, they barely talked, even though they were technically on friendly terms.

She didn’t know how it would be once they got back to Malfoy Manor. He still had the betrothal ring. Draco had never offered it back for all of his professions of love.

“So the Dark Lord came,” she prompted. “Then what?”

“He found Dumbledore on the top of the Astronomy Tower and killed him. Mentioned how he had locked you up, for some reason. I came as soon as I could.”

She nodded her head. Clearly there was more to the story, but it would have to do for now.

“You’re not wearing Malfoy’s ring,” Potter suddenly said.

Imbolc paused, but continued. “I haven’t for months. We had an argument about my scars.”

“You’re still wearing Peverell’s.”

“I think I’ll marry him, to be honest,” she sighed. “Strange, but I think that’s what will happen. I’m seventeen already. I’m of marriageable age.”

He looked at her sadly. “And not even the Chosen One can change your mind?”

“I’m a pureblood,” she explained. “I will marry another pureblood.” She shrugged. “He takes care of me. You cannot understand what that means to me.”

“Well,” he stated. “I’m not marrying Selenadora.” They shared a rueful smile.

“Poor Selene,” she said, smiling. “Don’t tell Sirius about me possibly marrying, all right? It’s just a thought. I haven’t even told the Malfoys yet.”

“Or Draco, you mean.”

“Or Draco,” she confirmed.

…

She was absolutely flabbergasted. “No,” she stated emphatically. “Absolutely not.”

Draco was standing by a traditional bonding table, a silver athame and a pomegranate on it. “Immy, please, we’re in love.”

“No, we’re not,” she stated, crossing her arms. They’d only been back at the Manor for a day and now he pulled this? “I refuse to even wear your bonding ring.” It had killed her the day she had lost her Draco, her dearest friend. She had been falling in love with him, and then he had disappeared on her and hadn’t been there for her, unlike Harry Potter and Mal had, in their different ways.

She made to leave the room, but the doors were shut. Taking out her wand, she performed several spells, but they would not budge. 

“Malfoy family magic,” he told her gleefully. “No, please, Imbolc. None of this nonsense.”

“Nonsense. It’s not nonsense. It’s—!”

The doors smashed inward and Imbolc took cover behind a sofa. When the air cleared, she looked up and saw Peverell. “Oh, thank the old gods. Could you take me to the floo? I need to go to my father’s house. I simply can’t stay here.”

He looked at the table with loathing before putting Draco under the Cruciatus Curse.

“No!” she called out as Draco writhed in pain and with a look to her, Peverell flicked his wand and Draco was left a weeping mass on the floor.

“Come, Winter,” he commanded, and not seeing what else she could do, she went to Peverell and took his arm. He stormed through the house and to the floo and then took her in his arms and floo’ed to his own home. They were at the familiar sitting area with the skylight and she was utterly surprised.

“Mal,” she stated. “I can’t stay here. It would ruin my reputation.”

“No, it won’t,” he disagreed. He swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs until he reached a bedroom. 

“Peverell!” she exclaimed as he dropped her on the bed. “This really is not the best form!”

“Of course not,” he breathed, tracing the scars on her cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Don’t say that,” she begged. “I’ll never be beautiful again.”

“I beg to differ,” he murmured before drawing closer. “And we are bonding under the ancient rites.”

She sucked in a breath. “You think I’ll give my virtue to you with no guarantees that you’ll honor your vow? What do you take me for?”

“A woman,” he answered. “If you’d rather a traditional bonding…”

“I had not thought of bonding,” she lied.

“Of course you have,” he answered a little viciously. “You’ve thought of the child you’re to carry in your womb next May. Do you deny me the right to create that child with you?”

She stared into his red eyes and sighed. “Total anonymity,” she bargained, “at least until you come to power. I will not have a target on my head or the child’s.”

“Granted,” he told her immediately. “Now, the ancient rites.”

“I don’t want it to hurt,” she begged, “and you’ll see all the scars.”

“And I’ll love you for them,” he answered, kissing her as he undid the laces of her dress.


	10. Part the Ninth

**Part the Ninth—** __  
“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I’ve been waiting; all you have to do is run, You be the prince and I’ll be the princess, It’s a love story, baby, just say ‘yes.’”  
**—“Love Story,” Taylor Swift  
**

“I want your permission,” Peverell said quietly, “not to treat you like a lady of society.” Her dress was nearly off by now and she was shivering under the heat of his gaze.

“I—wouldn’t that be like treating me like a muggle or a whore?” she asked in confusion. She was lying down, her head near the pillows, her weight on her elbows.

“Sit up,” he commanded, and surprisingly she did.

Carefully taking her arms out of her dress, she was left in nothing but her corset and her panties. “Aren’t you going to?” she asked, gesturing to him, and he smirked at her.

“But, of course, my dear,” he murmured. He was wearing royal blue robes that day and he shirked them off to reveal a shimmering blue and silver top that he similarly pulled over his head.

He was simply marvelous. All pale skin, ribs, and glorious muscles, Imbolc couldn’t help but reach out and almost touch. When she hesitated, Peverell grabbed her hand and ran it down the length of his chest. “We will be married in quite a short amount of time,” he reminded her. “You may touch what you like.”

“But I—it’s not proper. Aunt Narcissa said I should lie in a shift and let you—well, she was never very specific after that. She said she would tell me the night before my wedding.”

“Well,” he whispered, leaning over and kissing her deeply. “I don’t want you to behave like a pureblood lady.”

“Then why would you marry me?” she questioned. “That’s exactly what I am.”

“Do you love me?” he asked suddenly.

Her violet eyes flashed. “Do you love me? You did, after all, interrupt my wedding.”

“You didn’t want it,” he growled, before pulling her up to him and burying his hands in her hair. “Morgana,” he exclaimed. “Take it out. I don’t think I could figure this out if I had a year.”

She looked at him. “Is there a mirror?”

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” he apologized, but he motioned to a door. Looking at him, Imbolc stood up and walked toward it, trying to forget about the state of undress. What she saw startled her that she cried out. Her arm was covered in thick bands of purple and red and so were portions of her upper leg and ankle.

Peverell rushed in and immediately saw the problem. Coming up to her from behind he cradled her form as she cried. “Hush,” he murmured. “I had him executed. His head is in a box I meant to present you with earlier today.”

“It’s horrible,” she sobbed. “I’m so ugly now.”

“Never that,” he promised. “You got away before he could sink his teeth into your neck. Do you know how truly amazing that is?”

“Draco thinks it’s ugly,” she murmured. “He says he doesn’t, but all of his actions say differently.—He’s only kissed me once, and though he says he loves me and wants to marry me, I can’t help but think it’s because I’m the Black heiress and not because I’m his Immy—oh, by the gods,” she wept.

He petted the top of her hair and kissed her brow. “Your myrrh hasn’t arrived yet,” he apologized. “However, just look at your face, sweetheart. Just look there as you undo your glorious hair.” 

Without even turning to the mirror, she reached back and began to unbind the three twists that fell to her shoulders, meeting in the middle. She threw the bindings on the counter and felt her hair slowly fall to her midback. “Is it done?” she asked, turning toward him. 

Running his hand through her wavy hair, Peverell nodded. “It’s like molten gold.”

“So everyone tells me.—You’re still more dressed than I am.”

He looked down at his trousers and smirked. Unhooking a button, he stepped out of them and smirked at her. “Better, Lady Peverell?”

“That’s not my name yet,” she argued as he led her back to the bedroom. 

“Semantics,” he argued as she sat on the bed and pulled herself on it. Following her like a tiger tracking his prey, he pursued her, his eyes red with lust. “Perseus,” he recalled.

“Not ‘til Christmas,” she reminded.

“Well, we’ll need plenty of practice,” he argued, reaching behind her corset and undoing the laces. 

“I’m still a lady,” she warned.

“But I want to make love to a woman,” he emphasized, “not a doll who’s been told to do nothing but lie back and think of England.”

“Then perhaps we can settle on a witch?” she suggested as her skin met the bare air. Immediately, his lips were upon her and she threw her head back. “Mal, I—Aunt Narcissa never mentioned—“

“Of course not,” he growled, releasing a breast from his tender mercies. “She’s a doll.” His hand dipped into her panties, which had become surprisingly wet, and found a nub of flesh.

“Nng,” she cried out as her senses continued to be assaulted. His mouth was on one breast, his hand on another, and the other hand around the sweet nub. It was too much. Far too much. And then—and then—

Imbolc screamed out, her hands above her head, grabbing hold of the pillows, and Peverell looked up at her in pleasure.

“Don’t you like being a woman, my dear, instead of a simple doll?”

“Why you—?” she breathed out, throwing a pillow at him.

He laughed before he surged up for another searing kiss. Yes, she decided, she liked being a woman, especially when he entered her and let her breathe through the pain before bringing her that pleasure again. He sat them up so that they were nearly face to face, sweat pouring off their backs, and she looked into his snake like face.

When he intoned the words of the ancient rites, she felt at peace, and she pulled him that much closer.

“You kept your word,” she murmured when he had laid her back on the pillows. “I really am Imbolc, Lady Peverell.”

“Did you ever have any doubt?” he whispered in his sibilant and attractive voice. He smoothed a hand down her scars of her arm. “All I’ve wanted is you.”

“Wanted, but not loved,” she surmised.

“To me they are the same thing, my dear.” His hand still moved against her arm.

As she let her eyes close, a hand came to rest upon her cheek.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Peverell announced. “You can hardly think that we’re finished yet.”

She laughed and opened her eyes. “People do it more than once?”

“Dolls don’t,” he admitted with a smirk, “but women certainly do.”

…

“Let me get this straight,” Harry said. Imbolc was having tea with him, Sirius, and Selenadora. “Malfoy tried to force a bonding with you, Peverell interrupted, and you ended up bonding with Peverell in the next half hour.”

“Sounds like me and your mum,” Sirius said proudly. “Lady Imbolc Peverell. Has a ring to it.”

“Yes,” she agreed, not correcting him on the name. “He’s taking me to Paris tonight. There’s some sort of political meeting. Insists I wear blue for some reason.”

“Have the Malfoys sent your belongings?” Selenadora asked quietly. “I know they must be angry about…everything…”

“They have, including Elizabeth Woodville. Peverell has his own stable, not as many Abraxans as Uncle Lucius, but enough.”

She sipped her tea. Imbolc felt like she needed to get back to Mal. Perhaps she could pull him away from his work for more pleasant afternoon activities. If not, she could always go riding, or into the town of Little Hangleton where she was quite popular as the “Squire’s wife.” She simply employed a glamour on her scars.

Sirius clapped his hands. “The old dog.”

“Pardon?” Imbolc asked.

“Selenadora,” he asked. “Would you mind terribly leaving? This is a question for married women and gentlemen.”

She looked over at Potter and then sighed. Selenadora put down her cup of tea and left the room.

Sirius turned back to Imbolc. “Please tell me that he’s not treating you like a pureblood maiden in the sack.”

Unfortunately, Imbolc knew exactly what ‘the sack’ was. Ravenclaws could gossip with the best of them.

Potter had gone white.

She looked at her father dead on. “You mean like a doll? Lie back and think of England, and all that nonsense—or what he calls nonsense?”

“So he doesn’t then,” Sirius pressed.

“No,” she answered carefully. “He does not. Apparently he treats me like a ‘woman’.”

Sirius clapped his hands in glee and looked at Potter. “Harry, if you ever find a woman of breeding who is willing to forgo her teachings about how to behave while in bed with her husband, you should snatch her up immediately.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t do it for just anyone,” she stated plainly. “That would be preposterous!”

“Would you do it for Malfoy?” Potter asked curiously and she gave him a scathing look.

“Draco and I have been barely speaking since Yule. I’d hardly do anything for him at the moment, if I’m completely honest. I’m just glad to be away from him. If he lies to me and tells me he loves me one more time, I’ll curse him.” She took a sip of her tea. “Now I have a favor.”

Both Sirius and Potter looked up.

“Peverell is going to be out of the country for the Weasley wedding. Normally, I would ask Draco, but given our falling out, I can’t have him escort me. Would one of you two fine gentleman do the honor?”

“I’ll do it,” Potter said a little too quickly. 

“I’ll get one of the Weasleys to take Selenadora, then,” Sirius mused, though no one was paying attention. “Or I’ll just take her. Might be better.”

“Can you dance?” Imbolc asked Potter.

“Er—not really.”

“Father, teach him how to dance. I love to dance. I know I have a ball a few days before in Greece or somewhere, but I would so enjoy to do so at a wedding.”

“Dancing, right. Pureblood I’m assuming?”

“Is there any other kind?” she asked sweetly.

“No,” he agreed sullenly. “Your mother loved to dance, actually. You have that in common.”

Imbolc smiled sadly. “Yes, I suppose we do.”

…

A vanity had been moved into the room and, frankly, Peverell was insatiable. Imbolc was careful to apply Myrrh every day to all of her scars and didn’t even bother wearing a negligée to bed. Instead, she would leave a robe out and crawl under the covers exactly as the old gods had made her.

Peverell was in bed, reading with glasses.

“May I make an observation?” she questioned, leaning on her side and propping her head up using her elbow.

He looked at her.

“First, you work too much,” she noted, taking the parchment from his hands, “and, at the fear of sounding like a common Muggle-born, you look sexy in your glasses.”

Carefully he put them aside and looked down at her. “Do I now?”

“You wouldn’t think it, especially with your lack of nose.” She reached out and touched it. “But seriously, Dark Lord, I find I don’t mind a husband who wishes to treat me like a woman and not like a doll.” She grinned at him.

He traced the line of her good cheek. “My darling girl.”

“I’m old enough to marry,” she scoffed, but he just continued to caress her face.

“I went to school with your great-grandfather Abraxas,” he reminded her. “He called me by my middle name.”

“Whatever ‘Mal’ is short for?” she guessed, and he nodded. “I don’t suppose you’ll ever tell me.”

“Once that blasted Potter is dead,” he promised her, drawing her into his arms. She was rather startled when all of a sudden she was set onto his lap. His hands reached up across her shoulder blades and she shivered.

“I got close to him today,” she whispered, as she leaned forward and rested her lips just centimeters from him.

“I don’t like my bride being close to the Potter brat,” he muttered dangerously.

“You didn’t mind your spy being close to him,” she objected, leaning back again.

“That was before you were my wife,” he countered, rolling his hips upward. She gasped at the sensation. 

“Mal, I’m trying to talk to you,” she whimpered as he rolled his hips again. “I’m the perfect wife. I go to your events and allow myself to be photographed and—oh, yes, right there!”

“There?” he taunted, his lipless mouth coming up to her ear.

She bit her lip and nodded. “Mal, please, let me talk.”

“Afterwards,” he promised, claiming her lips sensuously, and she lost herself to the pleasure of it all.

“Darling,” she whispered when they were quiet once again and he held her in his arms. “You know I’m a good wife. I don’t ask too often about your name, I don’t ask why this place is called ‘Riddle House’ although you’re a Peverell, I’ve allowed you to make love to me outside the bounds of society, I even let you steal me away from Malfoy Manor.”

“You did, didn’t you?” he murmured as his hands played with her hair. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want you near Potter.”

“Think of it like this. He’s my father’s godson. It would look odd if I suddenly drop him. He’s also besotted with me. I can keep him close and he’s the perfect shield. Who would expect the girl the Boy Who Lived fancies as the bride of the Dark Lord?”

“You’ve also had rather a public break from young Malfoy.”

She paused. “About that, Aunt Narcissa has invited me to tea later this week.”

His fingers halted in their perusal of her hair. “I see. Do you intend on going?” His attractive voice had turned distant and she looked up at him only to see that he was looking away.

“I hadn’t thought. I was going to ask you before you told me to speak to you…afterwards.”

“She is your aunt,” he reasoned. “I leave the choice up to you. Just remember who you are now. You are the wife of Lord Voldemort—his Dark Lady.”

“All right,” she murmured. “It would be nice to see Lacy and Io again. They’ve done nothing wrong, and I’m assuming Uncle Lucius has been nothing but apologetic and supportive.”

“Highly,” Peverell agreed. He seemed to hesitate. “Riddle is my father’s name. This is his house.”

Imbolc looked up at him again and reached out until she was holding his cheek. “I fear there is a story there.”

“One you would not like,” he told her viciously. “It’s worse than your mother being shot by muggles.”

“I’m here,” she told him firmly, “if you ever want to tell me.”

He nodded and then smirked at her. “Right now,” he said, pushing her down into the pillows, “I find I have a much different use for you.”

“Really?” she teased. “Whatever can it be, Dark Lord?”

He kissed her softly and then drew back the covers until he left her completely bare.

“Mal!” she cried, but he didn’t listen to her. Instead, he pushed his way down her stomach, kissing it, until he reached between her legs. She was quite startled, when Peverell spread her legs apart and placed his mouth on her soft flesh. “Mal, you can’t—by the old gods!” she declared, burying her head in the pillow.

She wasn’t even aware she was crying out her release until he was kissing her and she could taste something salty on her tongue. It must be her, her mind supplied, but she didn’t care. She pulled him closer, hooking one leg around his thigh, begging him nearer.

“More?” he asked as he pulled away and she nodded her head.

He entered swiftly and smoothly, and her head leaned back into the sensation, but he kissed up the column of her neck.

“Je t’adore,” she whispered into the air, not certain if he could hear her or not, but knowing that the words were true.

That night, as she was falling asleep in his arms, his hand moving through her hair, she could swear she heard the words, “Je t’adore, aussi,” whispered into the darkness. They made her smile. That was all she needed to know.

…

“You made the International Press again,” Uncle Lucius said, showing her the paper. This time they had been in Bavaria and she was wearing a dress of pure silver made from the Vampire Silks. “It was reprinted today in The Prophet,” he informed her.

This time it was Narcissa who took out the paper and flipped to the society section. Imbolc had taken to sleeping in late since she was up half the night with Peverell so hadn’t had time to read the paper.

She scanned the article. Leader in British Politics…Wife a Leader in Fashion and the Belle of the Ball…Charming…a Human Face to her Husband…”Oh good,” she said, picking up on something. “They got my name right.”

“Are you quite sure?” Narcissa asked, picking up the paper. “Here they call you ‘Imbolc, Lady Peverell’.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I asked Peverell about that, and he claims it’s an ancient lordship. I couldn’t say one way or the other, but it wouldn’t surprise me. And, let’s be serious,” she looked at her two youngest cousins and leaned in, “we’re talking about the Dark Lord. He has a title. Why shouldn’t he want that for his wife?”

The drawing room door opened and Draco appeared. “Lady Mother, I really think this is too much. It’s been less than a month and I don’t want to immediately start courting again.” He looked up and his eyes met Imbolc’s. “Lady Peverell,” he greeted, bowing to her.

She nodded in response. “A courtship?” she asked in curiosity, looking at Uncle Lucius, who shifted nervously in his seat.

“We thought with the Greengrasses,” he suggested, his ice blue eyes on hers, as if asking her for permission.

Imbolc turned back to Draco. “Not Daphne, surely? We always used to make fun of her and her pretentious ways.”

“That’s the argument,” Narcissa admitted. “We say Daphne, he refuses.”

“Well, Peverell will be less than pleased,” she stated firmly. “Daphne Greengrass is vain and dyes her hair blonde.”

Draco looked up, shocked.

“You didn’t know?” she asked in genuine curiosity. “It was all over Ravenclaw. Her little sister must have let it slip—she’s two years below us,” she added for her aunt and uncle. 

“She’s not a blonde,” Draco repeated.

“No.”

“I refuse her on that basis,” Draco said determinedly. “I will not have my children not be blond.”

“Really,” Lacerta put in. “You’ll make Imbolc think that you only chose her for her hair.”

“I know he didn’t,” Imbolc told her kindly, not looking at Draco. “It was a match several years in the making.”

“Then what went wrong?”

At a loss of what to say, it was Aunt Narcissa who fortunately saved her. “Lacy, darling, they had that rather public argument, don’t you remember? Around Yule? Then Imbolc decided to marry her other suitor.”

“He took her off like a Viking raider,” Draco protested. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t force a bonding.”

Imbolc’s wand was immediately out and pressed to his throat. “I can easily revoke that boon I asked on your behalf,” she reminded him. “Do not test me, cousin.”

“You were supposed to be my wife,” he reminded her.

“No, I wasn’t,” she argued and then sighed. “All I want is my husband and my Draco back. Remember how it was before we were courting? How we would walk hand in hand down to the pond and you would swing me for hours or we would laugh with each other between classes?”

He looked at her sadly. “I remember, Immy.”

“I remember, too,” she told him, withdrawing her wand.

She left soon after that, breaking down into tears as soon as she exited the floo. Peverell found her ten minutes later and carried her up to their room. “Rest,” he murmured, holding out a potion.

Looking at him, she took it and recognized the taste as Dreamless Sleep. She didn’t awaken until the next morning, her hair still in its twists but she was dressed in her negligée and sleeping against the Dark Lord’s chest.

…

She was wearing robes that had large swaths of white and dark purple in vertical lines, with a matching purple hat. When she exited the floo, it was to see the entire Black household waiting for her. Selenadora looked unhappy at being escorted by her uncle and not Harry Potter, but Imbolc couldn’t really help that. She also had her hair loose and was wearing the habitual garland. Imbolc looked at her and transfigured it into a small hat.

“You don’t want to insult the bride,” she told her cousin. “She may be wearing a garland if she’s not wearing a veil.”

“But my hair!”

“Is still loose,” she placated. “I just gave you a hat in the English style.”

Potter hadn’t turned out too badly. He was dressed in black with a black tie and it rather suited him, possibly because of his hair. “Ready to dance?” she asked. 

He smiled at her tremulously but offered his arm.

The ceremony was in one large tent and Potter found them seats near the front. “Was your wedding like this?” he asked.

“Hardly. I was married under the ancient rites.”

He looked at her blankly.

“It’s rather rare. You make love and certain words have to be spoken. It can be dangerous because you could be despoiled. You have to trust the wizard’s word that he will honor you.”

“And you trusted Peverell’s.”

“That’s my name for him,” she confided. “He’s Lord Peverell. I am one of the preeminent ladies in society. I don’t think he’ll let me work after Hogwarts, come to think of it.” She looked at the assembled wizards. “I never asked. What do you want to do?”

“I,” he blushed. “I want to be an auror.”

“Really?” she paused. “I thought you would have had enough of dark wizards and death. I certainly have and I don’t quite have your experience.”

“Why did you never say Voldemort was actually there at the Ministry? You saw him with your own eyes.” Potter looked at her hard and she stared right back.

“It wasn’t my place,” she finally admitted. “I do not confirm or deny what wizards have not seen themselves. Now they have that picture of the Dark Lord, they cannot deny it any longer. My words would only have discredited me personally at the very best.”

“You mean how I was treated during fifth year.”

She inclined her head. “If you like.”

The ceremony started. Fleur was beautiful, of course, though she was part Veela. She wore her hair down in the French style and was wearing a garland. Thank the old gods Imbolc had thought to transfigure Selenadora’s.

It turned out that her father hadn’t taught Potter half badly when it came to dancing. He was a bit hesitant with the pureblood steps, but he kept up with her to the music. “You should ask Selenadora to Hogsmeade,” she broached when she saw an older Weasley trying to dance with her. “You have no other commitments, is that correct?”

“She’s not you,” he answered simply.

“No,” she agreed. “But you haven’t found anyone else in your own house, have you? And that fling with Cho Chang was just that—a fling. I’m half convinced it was to make me jealous.”

He paused. “How could you possibly?”

“I see that I am right,” she murmured, clapping her hands to the right and then to the left.

Then the patronus appeared. “Go,” she commanded and pushed him toward his friends Granger and Weasley.

He grabbed her hand, but she shook him off. 

“I will be safe,” she promised. “Go, before they find you.” Imbolc wasn’t certain why she warned him but in a blink of an eye he was gone.

Then she appeared before her. “Lady Peverell,” Bellatrix said, curtseying low. “You should not be here.”

“Perhaps not,” she agreed. “There are apparition wards, however, and I cannot…” She paused when she realized where she could go. “Cousin, perhaps I’ll see you at Malfoy Manor.”

“My lady,” Bellatrix intoned, curtseying again.

Imbolc spun on her heel and then she was gone.


	11. Part the Tenth

**Part the Tenth—  
** _“I was trying to fly, But I didn’t have wings, Then you came along and you changed everything.”  
_ **—“Crazier,” Taylor Swift  
**

She screamed as she went through the wards and landed in her Uncle Lucius’s study. The wards must have been changed since she was last here. Breathing heavily in a crouching position, Imbolc did not take stalk of what was around her.

“My dear little flame,” she heard Uncle Lucius declare and strong arms came around her.

“Wards,” she breathed, looking up at him dazedly. “Why would you change them?”

“Draco insisted,” he answered simply as he helped her to her feet.

“Well,” she said, taking a steadying breath. “I am the Dark Lady and I demand you change them back. I came here for sanctuary and instead I find physical pain? I’m like a daughter to you, Uncle Lucius. Why would you treat me in such a way?”

“You broke my son’s heart when you gave him back his courtship ring.”

She stared at him. “He broke mine first.” The two looked at each other and eventually he looked away, bowing. 

“It is as my lady commands.”

“Good,” she declared, sweeping out of the study. “Now, why the attack? There were some dark families present.”

“They were unharmed,” Lucius told her. “As you were, my lady.”

She sighed. “I better use the floo. Tell Draco I’m angry with him, not that he cares,” she muttered. She went to the fireplace and disappeared in green flames. She exited out at Grimmauld Place. “Anyone home, Kreacher?” she asked, and he pointed upward. “Right.” Imperiously, she marched up the stairs and made it to the drawing room. “Ah, Weasley, Granger,” she greeted. “You’ll never guess. Draco is so angry at me that he had Uncle Lucius change the wards. Anyway, I know when I’m not wanted.”

“It’s not safe—“ Granger tried to say, but Imbolc just waved her hand.

“Nothing’s safe. Sleeping in my husband’s arms isn’t safe. In a perfect world it would be, but sadly it is not.”

They all looked at her in shock. 

“Potter didn’t tell you,” she surmised. “Don’t you read The Prophet? Society Section? I’m married.”

“Not to Malfoy,” Potter added. “To that Peverell guy.”

“Well, that’s one blessing,” Granger said. “When you had that row, I was sure it was over.” She batted her hair away and Imbolc couldn’t help but grin at the action. “What’s he like?”

“Peverell?” She took a seat and removed her hat. “Well, he’s very tall, and he has the longest fingers.” Spindly, she could call them, but oh! what wonderful things they could do to her. Imbolc smiled softly at the thought. “He’s not handsome, far from it, however he has this look that I’ve never seen anyone else have. He’s certainly distinctive and draws every eye in the room.—He’s in International politics, you know, and I often go to functions with him and end up dancing the night away. I think he likes to watch me enjoy myself. I often catch him watching me.”

“How romantic!” Granger gushed. “Isn’t it romantic, Harry?”

“Does he dance with you?” he asked instead.

“We tend to open the floor together,” she admitted. “I’m not sure if it’s his status as a politician, if it’s because he’s a favored guest, or something else entirely, but it’s strange having hundreds of eyes upon you as you go through the complicated steps of the music.—I saw you and Weasley dance, Granger. Is there a budding romance there?”

They both blushed.

“Just don’t mention me and Selenadora. She seems to have gotten a cue from Malfoy and taken a horrible fancy to me. Worst is, she made it into Gryffindor and tries to insert herself into our gang.”

Granger looked at him apologetically.

“Just make sure she doesn’t abduct you,” Imbolc told him. “Then again, you’re male, so you’d have to say the words of the ancient rites, so you’ll be fine, come to think of it. Still, it probably wouldn’t be pleasant for you.”

Weasley opened his mouth in shock.

“You look like a codfish,” Granger told him. “Imbolc, we need you to revoke the secret to this house.”

“Beg pardon?” she asked in astonishment. “This is my father’s house. I have a room here.”

“We know,” Granger admitted. “However, things aren’t safe anymore, especially for Harry.”—He was looking away at a window—“Sirius has even taken Selenadora to Malfoy Manor to see if they will have her until all this blows over, and to get Malfoy to revoke the secret.”

“This is absurd!” she declared. “You know I can’t tell anyone. I’m not the Secret—Oh.” Since Dumbledore died, everyone who held the secret was the keeper of it. “Do you have a bit of parchment?”

She wrote down the floo address to her home and folded it. “Do not open this up,” she told Potter, knowing that he would do as she asked. “When Father comes home, give it to him, and have him floo here. If he wants me to revoke the secret, then and only then will I do it.”

Potter took her left hand and brought it to just underneath his lips, holding it a little too long, before releasing it.

“Father has taught you pretty manners,” she remarked. “No more trying to kiss me.”

“You’re a married woman now,” he said in response, as if that answered everything, and she supposed it did.

“He must come alone. My husband does not like visitors.” She nodded to Weasley and Granger and then left the room. When she arrived back at Riddle House she went and found Peverell.

“Father’s coming,” she said, without even knocking on the door. “They want me to revoke the secret on where Father lives, and I said I’d only do it if he asked it of me. He’s currently at Malfoy Manor trying to get them to take Selenadora.”

He looked up at her with shocking red eyes. “If you think that is best, Winter. Serve him tea in the floo room. I set it up so that you could have an elegant tea space while I could move about the upper stories without fear of being seen.”

“You think of everything,” she praised, moving forward until she was leaning on his desk and kissing him. “I best go see to the house elves.”

“Yes,” he agreed, turning back to his parchments. She wondered if he would be seeing his followers later that day after the attack.

Sirius took over an hour to arrive and he came in his dress robes, looking harassed. 

“Uncle Lucius give you a hard time?” she questioned as she motioned toward the tea set.

He looked up toward the skylight and then kissed her cheek. “It was truly horrible. That whelp of a cousin of yours was all against the idea because Selene is a Gryffindor and a friend of Potter’s and he didn’t want to give her your old room.” He sighed. “In the end, I appealed to Narcissa and her love of Regulus. It took another half an hour to get Draco to repeal the secret, but he did eventually. I still think he has a hankering for you. He wears your courtship ring on a chain around his neck. He was fiddling with it the whole time.”

“He’ll have to take it off when he goes back to Hogwarts,” she murmured. “Now, why must I revoke the secret?”

“Harry and his friends need a place to hide. You-Know-Who has taken over the Ministry.”

“You don’t say,” she murmured, looking up at the ascending floors. Peverell would be especially gleeful and thus amorous tonight. “Do you really think I would give it away?”

“You lived with the Malfoys, sweetheart. I honestly don’t know.”

That hurt, honestly, but she nodded instead. She took the piece of paper from him and tore off the top. Writing down, “The Secret to the Order of the Phoenix is at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place,” she threw it in the fire. “I revoke you,” she mumbled. She then turned to her father. “Happy?”

“Yes, Imbolc,” he said, taking her hands and kissing them. “Words cannot describe.”

“Keep my room in order,” she begged. “I’ll never know when I’ll have use for it again.” A chill ran up her spine at the premonition but she just breathed out. It was something to think on another day. Now she was exiled from the childhood home she never had. “I think you should go,” she finally murmured.

“Maybe I could visit you here?” he asked hopefully.

“I think not,” she answered firmly. “Peverell enjoys his privacy. He allowed this because it was so important.”

“So you are trapped in your own home.”

“Hardly,” she laughed. “I may travel as I please. This place is merely a sanctuary from the outside world and its obligations. You have your home, Father, which you are trying to completely cut off. Surely, you must understand the concept.”

“This is a time of war,” he growled angrily like a dog.

“And it isn’t for us?” she snapped back. “Go, Father, before we say something we regret.”

He got up and kissed the crown of her head lightly. “I would not have wished a marriage for you at this age.”

“You wished one for yourself,” she reminded him. “Now go, and leave the secret behind you.”

…

They were walking among the many gravestones at Malfoy Manor, her arm tucked into the crook of his arm. “There’s grandfather Abraxas,” Draco told her, pointing the stone out. “It’s strange to think that you’re his great-grandaughter and yet we’re the same age.”

“Do you think we should bury Mother here?” she asked, turning around and looking at the spot. There were several gravestones and they were kept together by a fence that she knew could be expanded and moved by magic.

“I know she would be happy here,” Draco whispered in her ear, and she smiled up at him. “You’ll be here, after all, with me.” His hand ran down her cheek, but then it was suddenly nighttime and he was gone.

Imbolc looked around her wildly and saw the strange, mysterious form of the Dark Lord between the graves. “I think not,” he said in his cool, attractive voice. “You will be buried in Little Hangleton, beside me, Lady Peverell.”

The scene changed and they were in another graveyard, this one barely kept up, with crumbling stones and grass overgrown on the stones.

She crouched by one and read: “Tom Riddle. Riddle House. Did he own it, Mal?”

Peverell looked at her closely and gave her the hint of a smile. “Think, child, think. Peverell is from my mother’s side. Who is my father?”

“But Riddle is not a wizarding name,” she argued. “It’s a Muggle—“ she gasped and instantly she was awake, sitting up, sweat trickling down her brow.

“Winter?” Peverell asked, but she couldn’t bear to look at him. 

“Riddle. The house belonged to Tom Riddle.”

“Yes,” he answered carefully. “That’s why there are no magical portraits on the walls.”

“I,” she gulped. “Your mother is a Peverell. Your father—Please say it’s not true. It’s a muggle name.”

Peverell sat up and ran a hand down her golden hair. “He seduced my mother. It was a trick of his. When she was pregnant with me, she told him she was a witch, and he abandoned her on the streets of London. She died giving birth to me. I grew up in an orphanage thinking I was a common Muggle,” he spat out the final words, his long fingers painfully grasping at her hair, and she drew away from him.

“You’re hurting me,” she begged. “Please, Mal, let my hair go.”

After a few silent beats when she thought that nothing would change, Peverell released her hair, and Imbolc sighed out in relief.

“Thank you,” she murmured, not looking at him. Instead, she whispered, “I married a half-blood.”

“You married a pureblood,” he corrected. “I discovered how to destroy the Muggle taint of my father. Unfortunately, I had his visage and so that disappeared.”

She nodded to herself. “I—I think I want to be alone tonight,” she whispered, resting on her side away from him. “I’ll tell you if you can come back tomorrow.”

He reached out tentatively and stroked her shoulder, before she heard the rustle of sheets and he was gone. Tears streamed down her eyes and she wondered why love had to hurt so much.

…

“I can’t go home,” she told Uncle Lucius seriously. “I’ve had a fight with Peverell and Father made me revoke the secret of the Black home.”

“Surely, this argument can be resolved,” he offered.

“I don’t see how,” she said, a few tears forming in her eyes. “He lied.”

“He’s the Dark Lord,” Lucius reminded her. “He’s supposed to lie.”

It felt like a slap on the cheek. “All I want is a place I can sleep for a few nights,” she begged. “Uncle, you gave Selenadora sanctuary.”

“She is not the Dark Lord’s wife,” he reminded her. “You are. It would be my head if the Dark Lord found I was harboring one of his prized possessions.”

Anger welled up inside her. “I am not a possession. I am a wife.”

“What is the difference to a man as powerful as him? He found the most talented, most beautiful, youngest witch on the island and took her for his own, even though she clearly belonged to someone else. You are nothing more than a possession, my dear. You should get used to it.”

“If I were a possession,” she shot back, “he would not have left my bed last night when I told him to. He would have stayed and used me however he would like.—Is this how you see Aunt Narcissa?”

“Of course,” he answered simply. “It’s how every pureblood wizard views his wife. Her opinions are unimportant; she is there simply to serve tea to guests and to appear on your arm at official functions. She also serves the purpose of breeding beloved and important children for the next generation.”

“And Lacerta and little Io?”

“I will simply have to search for wizards who take good care of their possessions. I am sorry this was never explained to you. Draco was besotted and your marriage to the Dark Lord was so sudden.”

“I suppose this is what he meant,” she murmured, drinking her elven wine.

“I beg pardon?”

“He said he wanted me to be a woman and not a doll on our wedding night. I suppose he meant he didn’t want me to simply be a possession. But ‘tis no matter. If you will not give me sanctuary, I will find it elsewhere. Give my cousins my best, though you can exclude Draco. I’m not really fond of him at present. I fear with my displeasure he may soon lose the Dark Lord’s favor.”

She stood and waited for her Uncle to rise, given her superior station. She offered her hand and withdrew it from his grasp quickly, as if she couldn’t stand to be touched by him.

…

There were several other witches and wizards with him in the study when Imbolc approached the room. She wove her way through them until she came to Peverell and she lightly touched his arm. He looked at her and his gaze was guarded, but she persevered.

“Mal,” she greeted. “I’ve just been to see my uncle Lucius and he’s said some disturbing things. I wonder, when you have a minute, if you might spare it so that you might clear it up. It involves male roles in pureblood culture.”

“Are you well, my dear?” he offered after a long pause.

“I suggest placing the Malfoys under disfavor,” she stated, “although they are my kin. They have grossly insulted me today.”

“I shall come to you presently.” He took her hand and raised it to beneath his lipless mouth, before releasing it. A sad smile played on her face, before she left the room and made for the writing nook.

She took out a sheet of paper and wrote to Apricot Selwyn about her own courtship to Januarius Montague, offering her whatever advice she could. 

Imbolc, at first, wasn’t aware of her husband’s presence, until he placed a hand on her shoulder. She startled and put down the unicorn horn pen he had gifted to her during their courtship and saw that the door was closed. “Did your meeting go well?” she asked solicitously.

“Very,” he stressed. “We’re planning the curriculum for Hogwarts. Your favorite professor has been named Headmaster.”

“Snape?” she asked, a little in wonder. “I’m sure he’ll like that. It will be a recognition of his many talents. I also don’t think he likes teaching ‘dunderheads,’ as he calls them.”

“I think you’re right.” He moved away from her toward a sofa and she hesitated before taking the seat next to him.

“I went to Malfoy Manor to ask for sanctuary,” she admitted. “I’m a little lost in our current—predicament and I thought that getting away for a bit would help me think better.”

“I see,” he stated coldly. “What did Lord Malfoy say?”

“He denied me and stated that as your wife I was your possession to do with as you will.” She turned to him, trying to keep tears from her eyes. “You don’t think of me like that, do you? I know we currently have our differences, but I’m a human being, Mal, I’m not something that spouts opinions that you ignore, that’s meant as a breeding farm, who’s supposed to look good on your arm, who’s your plaything in bed. Am I? I mean, tell me if I am, Peverell, leave me in no doubt, I’d rather just know—“

Then he reached forward and he kissed her. It was soft and sweet and it reminded her of how Draco used to kiss her before the whole mess with the scars. Still, there was promise to it.

“If you were any of those things,” he told her in his sibilant voice, “then I wouldn’t bother to kiss you.”

“So he lied?” she asked hopefully, “even though you play at being the pureblood?”

“He lied,” he confirmed. “Malfoy spoke of most situations. Not of ours.” He stroked the scarred side of her face. “May I come to your bed tonight?”

“What’s your name?” she countered, and he sighed.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle, Jr. My mother was Merope Gaunt.”

She nodded. “I suppose I’m Lady Imbolc Riddle, then. At least our son will be second generation from the title of Lord Black, so he’ll be Lord Perseus Riddle.”

He shook his head. “No. I am a Peverell. You wear the Resurrection Stone on your hand. You are Imbolc, Lady Peverell, my darling. I will have no one take that away from you.” His red eyes shone so deeply into hers that she could only nod.

“Swear to me on all that is holy that you are truly a pureblood despite the Riddle taint,” she begged, “and then you may come back to our room.”

“I swear by the old gods,” he said in devotion, his hands on either side of her face. “Now are you satisfied?”

After a brief hesitation, she nodded.

He kissed her again lightly, and then pulled away from her. “I must go visit your uncle and have a serious discussion about what he teaches the ladies of his household and how he treats the Dark Lady. You should be able to seek sanctuary anywhere for whatever reason, even if it is to escape me.” His finger traced her chin and he smiled down at her. “Je t’adore,” he said for the first time in their waking hours.

“Je t’adore aussi,” she promised. “Come home, soon. I’ve had a long day and I would like dinner in bed with my husband.”

…

She received a strange letter from Selenadora and instantly floo’ed over to Malfoy Manor. Imbolc was surprised to see Lucius in the drawing room and was gratified when he instantly bowed to her.

“Where’s Selene?” she asked, and it was Lacerta who answered.

“Her room.”

Imbolc smiled at her cousin.

“Will you show me?”

She remembered the room well. It was not in the family quarters but in the guest wing and was made of teals and golds. Selenadora was sitting and reading a book. Imbolc immediately went to her. “Have you owled Father?” she asked.

Selenadora nodded. “Five times. Each owl has come back with the letter unopened.”

“It must be the wards,” she reasoned. “Here, let me see the letter.”

She looked at it and then at Selenadora. “Do you know George Weasley?”

“I think I danced with him at the wedding, but beyond that I cannot be certain. He has red hair, does he not?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Father and Potter are great friends with the Weasleys. They’re technically blood traitors but this won’t be the first time a Black has married a Weasley. This one also owns his own joke shop.”

“There’s this one, too.” Selenadora produced another letter. It was from Ernie McMillan. He was a Hufflepuff in their year and from a low upper house. This was much more promising.

“Well, I must squire you to meet both of them,” Imbolc decided. “You don’t have any other female relative. I’m sure Peverell won’t mind if I ride Elizabeth Woodville a little less.” She sighed. “Shall I answer these and then owl you with the dates?”

“They’re not from Harry,” she said morosely.

“No,” Imbolc agreed, “but he’s wanted by the government. He also tends another way.”

“You mean he’s in love with you. I may be French, but I’m not stupid. English is my first language because of Father.”

“Of course,” Imbolc demurred. “I didn’t mean to insult your intelligence. It’s just—indelicate for me to suggest such a thing.”

“It’s indelicate that it’s even happening!” She threw her hands up in the air. “You’re a married woman!”

“That I am,” Imbolc agreed, thinking of Peverell. “That I am.”

…

“What are we doing!” Imbolc whispered, although there was no one about. Both she and Peverell were in their robes and he was hurrying her toward his study.

“You go to Hogwarts in three days,” he declared, waving his wand so that all his papers were now lined up on his shelves. “I want pleasant memories of you, naked, on my desk.”

He came close to her and pushed his hand beneath her robe and then undid the tie. The robe fell from her shoulders and she was left before him completely bare. “Like what you see?” she asked at his hungry gaze. Imbolc quickly went to work on his tie and he shrugged off his robe until they were standing naked before one another.

“Now then,” he stated, picking her up and laying her on the desk. “Prepare to be ravaged, Madam.”

“Promises, promises,” she claimed, until his tongue was on her and the only option she had was to fist her own hair. She arched off the desk as she cried out her pleasure, but he didn’t stop the assault. He continued until she reached a second peak, which was more of a plateau, before he crawled upward and claimed her lips.

“So much more than a possession,” he promised her, and she smiled up at him, letting her hands run over his bald head.

Then she sat up and surprised him as she hesitantly kissed her way down his body until he finally seized her and turned her over.

“Hold on,” he warned, and then he was inside her, and she was pushing back, and they were together in that moment of time, just Lord Voldemort and his bride. Nothing else mattered.

…

She’d made Head Girl, just as she’d always hoped. From the letter she received, Draco had made Head Boy. The moment was bittersweet. It was supposed to be their triumph and yet they had a great rift between them.

Imbolc went to the station alone, wearing gold robes, the color of royalty. Various students on the platform curtsied to her or bowed, while the others just watched on in confusion. She held Valentinus in her arms and stepped onto the train. It was her seventh and final year, after all.


	12. Part the Twelfth

**Part the Eleventh—** __  
“This part is sparkling, don’t you let it go, I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home, I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew, I was enchanted to meet you.” **  
—“Enchanted,” Taylor Swift  
**

“You do know she’s my cousin,” Imbolc stated imperiously as she watched one of the Carrow siblings about to torture little Io. “I am fond of the Malfoys and Selenadora Black. I would be most displeased if any harm were to come to them.”

She was taking a gambit, hoping that the Carrows would actually know she was someone of importance and, thus, would listen to her.

Amycus Carrow just sneered at her.

Imbolc inspected her nails. “My husband, while he goes by Peverell to ensure me anonymity, is a direct descendant of Slytherin. He even has this large snake that he speaks to a great deal. Nagini even tried to eat my cat when I first took up residence in my husband’s manor.”

Everyone around them went silent and Imbolc flashed her violet eyes. As Carrow was currently speechless, she continued.

“My mother was a spy. She was never placed in Azkaban for it, but she was one nonetheless. My grandmother Madeleine was also a spy and spent over ten years of time in that prison. Do you doubt my loyalty?”

“You’re the daughter of blood traitor Sirius Black!”

“With whom I have never lived. Now, release my kin. She’s twelve. I am most displeased, which is not an enviable position for you.”

Iolanthe was shaking against the wall, her hair in an intricate braid, trying not to show her fear. Imbolc reached out her hand and the little girl took it. “I think we’ll be off now,” she stated. She shared a long look with Amycus Carrow, daring him to look away, which he finally did. 

“I shall write on the matter.”

“As will I,” she promised. “I’m sure he will be of my opinion.”

…

“What are you doing?” Draco demanded. “You practically told the entire school you were the Dark Lord’s wife or mistress! It’s bad enough that you came back married. But this!” He threw up his hands.

They were behind their tapestry with a silencing spell up so no one could hear them.

“Would you like your sister under the Cruciatus Curse? You’ve been under it. Or don’t you remember? It was when you were trying to force me to marry you!” Imbolc demanded. “She’s too young. I saved the entire Malfoy family. Again. The least you can do is—“

He pushed her up against the wall and slammed his mouth against hers. It was chaste as always, but that didn’t make it any less startling.

She pushed him away. “What are you thinking? Peverell could behead you for that!”

“Better that than my having to live each day without you.” He was pacing again, his hands in his hair. “By the old gods, my parents are forcing me into a courtship. We’re now arguing about rings since I won’t reuse yours.”

She held her hand out. “Then give it to me. I will keep it safe and you can honestly say that you no longer have it.”

The two cousins stared at each other for a long time before he nodded his assent and pulled a thin chain from around his neck. He hooked it around her own and she slipped it under her shirt and sweater vest. “What will the Dark Lord say?”

“He knows I have a past. I shall simply bring up your concerns to him. I’ll make him understand. I usually can.”

Draco just looked lost.

“I will remember the good times,” she promised. “And perhaps my son will use it when it is his turn to court.”

“You’re having a son?” Draco looked at her in wonder.

“He will be conceived at Yule. I have seen it. Perseus Lux Peverell. Do you think it suits?”

“If only the child were mine,” he bemoaned, and Imbolc took a deep breath.

“That could never be, not since you left me after I was attacked, Draco,” she reminded him.

“But, Immy…”

“But, Immy, what? You betrayed my trust. You had the perfect opportunity to steal my heart completely away and you ruined it. You chose to leave me alone with Potter, who if I had any affection for, I might have married him even if he is a filthy half-blood.”

“The Dark Lord wasn’t there.”

“The Dark Lord couldn’t be there and he got the vampires to apologize and send me gifts. My face only shines gold because of him.” She sighed. “This is pointless. We’ll just keep on arguing.” She took down the privacy ward and exited the tapestry.

They may be Head Boy and Head Girl, but all they ever did was fight each other outside of their duties.

…

She had an appointment over Christmas at the Ministry for Magic. Peverell had, of course, arranged it. Imbolc barely paid attention when the wizard weighed her wand and she made her way to the lower basements.

Minister Pius Thicknesse himself was giving her the tour.

When they made it down there they reached one of the courtrooms. “Oh,” she stated unhappily. “I rather dislike Dolores Umbridge. She suggested I was a bastard two years ago even though my parents were legally married.”

Thicknesse looked horrified and had his aide take down the information.

She watched on as the woman tried to insist that she had gotten her wand from Ollivander and that it had chosen her, and that she hadn’t stolen magic at all.

“Can you steal magic?” Imbolc asked Thicknesse in genuine curiosity. “I’ve never heard of such an idea.”

Imbolc then had a thought. Stepping forward and thinking of her own mother’s death, she demanded, “Whom did you kill?”

“I beg pardon?” the sniveling woman asked.

“Well, it seems to me, that if you stole magic, you must have gotten it from somewhere. The surest way of stealing it from a witch or wizard is to kill them. So, I ask again, whom did you kill?”

Umbridge looked eminently pleased with the line of questioning “Hem. Hem. Yes. Killing. Quite. Who was it, dear?”

“But I didn’t!” she cried. “I swear I didn’t!”

“Come, come,” Imbolc reasoned. “I saw my mother shot through the head with what the muggles call a gun, all because I performed some accidental magic. Is that what happened, or did you get envious of another child? Whose magic did you steal? What crime did you commit?”

The woman started sniffling. “There was this boy in a coma.”

Imbolc nodded for her to continue.

“It was up in Manchester, I used to visit him, and he died one time when I was there.”

“Do you know the name of this boy?” Imbolc questioned.

The Muggleborn shook her head.

“Madam Umbridge, I think you have your case against this woman. Obviously, she stole it from the child in a coma, who was most likely never identified and so never transferred to St. Mungo’s. She gains the magic, the wand recognizes her. May I also say this is a fascinating process.”

“Did your uncle, Lord Malfoy, arrange for this trip?”

“No, my husband, Lord Peverell. He believes in continuing my education in politics.”

She swept from the room, followed by Thicknesse. 

“The woman’s clearly incompetent if I was the one who got the confession. Get her out. Now.”

The man bobbed his head and continued the tour.

…

“You surprise me,” Imbolc reasoned, afraid to touch her own husband. “A glamor. Truly?”

“We’re to the village,” he declared, putting on nice slacks and a turtleneck. She was putting on an Illyria dress and boots. “I show my face once a month to show that we still take an interest.”

“Muggles,” she breathed out in disgust. “Still, ever a test in good manners.”

He smiled and moved in to kiss her and she shied away.

“I’m sorry. It’s just, you don’t look like my husband.”

“Hand holding, at least,” he begged her. “I very much want to show off my wife.”

She looked down at the fingers that were shorter than usual and had a healthy peach glow. “Mal, this is not you,” she protested. She reached up and touched his dark hair. “This may have been what you looked like, but this is not whom I married.”

“No,” he agreed, kissing her hand and holding her close. “However, this is what the town needs to see. I am my own grandson, by the way, though I have never shown my wife before.”

“You look only twenty-five,” she remarked. “I suppose it is not uncommon in the Muggle world for you to take an eighteen year old bride.”

“Hardly,” he agreed, leading her out of their bedroom on his arm. “I’m Mr. Riddle and I’ve been telling everyone you’re Lady Imogen Riddle.”

“Imogen?” she laughed. “I suppose that’s more common than ‘Imbolc.’”

“Exactly my thought.” He kissed her hand. With lips. It was utterly disturbing to her.

They walked down to the village to a warm looking pub where he settled her into her seat. “Let the acting begin,” Imbolc intoned as their waitress came up to them. “I still can’t get over the fact that you have a nose.”

“It will be gone tonight,” he promised her quietly.

…

“I want to try something,” Peverell declared. His face was snake like again and she breathed out.

“Am I going to like it?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “You may, you may not. I think we owe it a go, just to see.”

She rolled over in bed and looked at his strange, ethereal face. “Explain it to me.”

“Well,” he said, kissing her shoulder. “Do you remember the time on the desk?”

“Where you flipped me over and made love to me that way?” she asked. “I was rather startled, to be honest, but I was giving you a good memory.”

“Did you enjoy it? You can be honest with me, dearest.” He ran a hand through her hair, his thumb brushing her golden scar.

“I—I’m not sure,” she answered. “The desk was rather hard, and I was rather focusing on that. For me it was more about you. Was that wrong?”

“No, darling. Love can often be like that.” She surged upward until their mouths met and their tongues entwined. Pressing her body against his, Imbolc shivered at the contact.

Drawing back, she whispered, “What do you want to try?”

“I want to do it how the Romans did it.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose in question.

“You,” he explained, “on all fours and me from behind.”

She looked at him aghast. “Really? You can do that?”

“And much more,” he promised her huskily.

“Well,” she decided, pulling off the sheet and taking the recommended position. “If I say ‘stop’…”

“You say ‘stop’,” he agreed, caressing her hips. “You truly are a wonder, Lady Peverell.”

“You are insatiable, Lord Peverell,” she shot back, only to end up on her elbows as he made love to her.

…

“I need to see a Healer,” Imbolc broached with her aunt. “And I can’t bring one to my home.”

“Are you unwell, dear?”

She shook her head. “No, quite the reverse.” She took a deep breath. “I really shouldn’t say unless I know. But could you get a healer here quickly?”

“Consider it done. Go to your old room and she’ll be with you in the next ten minutes.”

Nothing had changed. The walls were still blue and silver and her writing desk was still in the same spot. A knock to the door interrupted her musings and she opened the door. There was a small Asian woman and Imbolc smiled. “Healer?” she asked.

The woman nodded.

Imbolc let her into the room. “I think my husband and I are expecting a child,” she explained. “I need to be sure before I tell him.”

“How far along are you?”

“A week,” she said frankly. “Two weeks? I know, I know, but I’m a Clairvoyant.”

And she was right. She was only a week along but she was with child, with a little boy. A smile graced her face and she paid the healer for her time and her silence. She floo’ed back to Riddle House. 

Again there was a meeting, but he went up to Peverell and whispered in his ear. His face, at first, was impassive, before he broke out into a wide grin. He picked her up and swung her around as she laughed happily to his joy.

“Heir Perseus Lux Peverell,” he declared, much to the astonishment of the assembled crowd.

“Yes,” Imbolc agreed. “Heir Perseus Peverell, our little boy.”

…

“I think you could aim higher,” Imbolc confessed. “You gave her the ring?”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing special. A band of gold.”

“I’m surprised you allowed your parents to settle on her. She’s dirt poor even if she is from a low upper house and her hair is strawberry blonde. Imagine the children, Draco. Imagine the children!”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” he questioned, running his hand through his hair in the way he always did when he found something taxing. “It’s just all the blondes are half-bloods apart from you.”

“Then wait ten years,” she counseled. “You need not marry now. Our situation was a stolen coincidence.”

“Until you were stolen away,” he said petulantly.

Imbolc crossed her arms. “I was not stolen. I was whisked away from a forced marriage.”

“And placed in another forced one,” he insisted. “Really, Immy, the ancient rites. He could have had you restrained and… and…” here he dropped his voice “forced you.”

“It sounds all very sordid when you put it like that, and I’m sure that if he dies and loses the war, I’ll claim something similar, but that is not what happened.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine. Don’t,” she pressed. “Can’t you just accept that I’m happy, Draco?”

He made no answer. Sighing, she stood from their table in the library and walked away.

…

“Selene,” Imbolc said tensely. “Get in the wall. We don’t have much time.”

“I’m fighting with Harry,” she defended. “I haven’t spent a year hiding from the Carrows to hide in some dark place full of spiders.”

Imbolc tried not to roll her eyes. “I’ve been in here before. There are no spiders. The victor knows to release us, both Harry and the Dark Lord.”

“How can they possibly know that?”

“Because I told them to,” she said through clenched teeth. She’d left a letter with Harry when he wasn’t looking the day of the wedding and, well, of course Peverell knew. He was her husband after all.

“You’re a spy,” she accused.

“Oh, really, you’re going to accuse me of being a spy? Now?”

“Ladies,” Draco said, sticking his head out of the hole. “Just make a decision and get in.”

“Right,” Imbolc said. “In or out.”

Selenadora turned away. “I hope no one comes to let you out,” she said spitefully. “It would serve you right for your double-crossing nature.”

Imbolc went into the hole and closed the door behind her. Draco cast a Lumos so that all the Malfoy children could see each other.

“I didn’t know she knew that word ‘double-crossing’,” Draco commented. “I know she speaks English well, but not that well.”

“Apparently it’s her native language,” Imbolc confided. “It was her mother’s dearest wish after Uncle Regulus died.”

They’d brought a pack of cards with them and so played exploding snap throughout the battle. They couldn’t really hear much but the foundations of the castle shook a few times and everyone but Iolanthe would look at each other, wondering exactly what was happening.

The four of them must have been there through the night, because finally the door creaked open and a face appeared.

“No,” Imbolc breathed as she saw the visage of Harry Potter and she ran past him.

“Immy!” Draco cried. “Remember your immunity!”

But she didn’t stop. Instead she ran and ran until she heard voices and Imbolc came across the Great Hall. Draco and Harry were next to her. “Where is he?” she asked in a desperate voice.

“Who?” Harry asked, confused.

“The Dark Lord,” Draco supplied. “She’d like to see the Dark Lord.”

Carefully picking his way through the bodies, Harry showed them to a figure dressed all in black, his snake face looking up toward the ceiling.

“His eyes,” she pleaded to no one, leaning down to touch, but Draco staid her hand.

“Remember, Immy. You have immunity.”

Harry looked at her for several long seconds before reaching down and closing his eyes. He conjured a black sheet and placed it over the body.

Imbolc was barely able to hold in the tears, but Draco held her close and rubbed a hand up and down her back.

“He needs to be given back to his family,” he instructed. None of them noticed that Kingsley Shacklebolt had come up behind them. “He has a family. A wife, a child. They deserve to bury him.”

“I did not know that a man without a heart could have such a thing as a family,” Shacklebolt admitted. “Where should we send the remains?”

Imbolc pulled away and drew herself up. “Riddle House,” she said succinctly. “The house elves should know what to do.”

It was days before she could leave, but when she did, she found a plot in the cemetery purchased and Peverell in a casket of black wood, the top made out of glass. She pressed her hand to his face, wishing she could feel it, but all she felt was coldness.

She didn’t invite anyone to the funeral. The stone said everything it needed to say: Here Lies Marvolo, Lord Peverell, Who Was Born Tom Marvolo Riddle, Jr.

Draco wouldn’t go with her to Gringotts and Harry was the only other person who knew her secret. “I’m afraid Lord Peverell was simply styalized,” the goblin said. “He was Mr. Riddle as you are Lady Imbolc Riddle. Your son, though he will be Lord Perseus Riddle, all of his children will not carry titles.”

It was a hard blow.

Still, they had decided on Perseus for their son, and Perseus he would remain.

She was eight months pregnant by the end of August, and she moved back into Grimmauld Place so she could be near family for her confinement. Harry never reproached her for her marriage, which she found surprising. He would sometimes stare at her ring, and when she asked why, he said he thought it held a piece of Voldemort’s soul in it.

Strange. He had once said the same thing when she was half-asleep.

“I don’t know what to accept,” he said one day near the end of August. “I have so many offers that I just don’t know what to do.”

“Let me see them,” Imbolc offered and she shifted through various parchments. “Is Auror out?”

“You were right. I don’t want to fight dark wizards anymore.”

Selenadora looked up, completely surprised. It seemed she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought she did.

Imbolc paused at one. “Here,” she stated, “Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Very politically powerful. Can set you up for the rest of your life. Take it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she decided, giving him the paper. “I’d write back now, if I were you.”

Draco was not enjoying his courtship to Astoria Greengrass. “She’s not you,” he complained. “She doesn’t want to swing or hold hands or just pet Abraxans.”

“What does she want?” She looked up at him.

“She wants to earn more money in her illegal Quidditch betting ring. It’s absolutely awful.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“There you go. Morality clause. Break it.” She let her hand pass through white roses and smiled at the touch of the petals.

“And you?” he asked. “When will you reconsider marriage?”

She paused, “At the moment, never,” she answered sincerely. “I’m not sure I could ever find what I could with Peverell. I have his child growing in my womb.”

“You were falling in love with me once,” he told her quite plainly, taking her hand as they used to. “Why not try again? We could give your child tutors and keep him at your old husband’s estate while we live here as we’ve always done.”

Imbolc pulled her hand away and slapped him. “Are you mad? This is my child we’re talking about. Even if I were inclined to get married so quickly after being made a widow, I would never let you take my child from me. Peverell was taken from his mother. I was taken from my mother. Why would I allow such a thing to happen again?”

“I only meant we could start again.”

“But I’ve already started, can’t you see? I have my family growing inside my womb. Within the month, I shall have a beautiful baby boy, and not even you can take him away from me.”

Draco looked as if he wanted to say something, but it just got stuck in his throat. She stared at him angrily before leaving him with the flowers, silently wondering whom she was going to name godparents.

…

It was six months after Perseus was born and he slept in a cradle beside Imbolc and Peverell’s old bed. She wouldn’t hear of someone looking after him when he was sleeping. She did hire a wet nurse but that was all that she would allow.

A hand lighted on her shoulder and she was instantly awake. She drew her wand from under her pillow, spun around, and pointed it at her husband.

“Mal?” she asked in confusion. “Am I dreaming? Harry Potter killed you!”

He touched the stone on her hand. “I told you that you kept a piece of my soul. I can return as often as I need with such a treasure, that I lay into your keeping that night in Japan.”

“How did you? Another ritual?”

“I merely had an agent kidnap Lucius Malfoy for insulting my person and, well, he has expired.” His red eyes glinted in the darkness and Imbolc was a little scared.

“I—“ she didn’t know what to say, so she swallowed. “You’re really here?”

He took her hand in his and allowed her to cup his cheek. “There. You can feel the warmth of my skin. Is that not proof enough?”

“Je t’adore,” she murmured as she reached up for a kiss.

“Je t’adore aussi.” He disrobed and soon was pulling her shift over her head. She wasn’t wearing any myrrh as it was just her in bed and the baby didn’t seem to mind, but he kissed every scar and they made love well into the night.

When she woke, Imbolc was alone, but her shift was pulled off and she was pleasantly sore. Throwing it on along with her robe, she picked up Perseus and ran down the hall. She found him in her writing room.

“This is shameful,” he told her looking back over his shoulder. “Lady Imbolc Riddle? Lord Perseus Riddle? I will have a talk with the goblins.”

“But Mal,” she stated, “you can’t walk into Gringotts.”

“Can I not?” he asked her, standing up and walking over to her. He kissed her gently and then looked down at their child. “He has my hair.”

“Yes,” she answered. “I think he will break many a heart.”

“You may be right,” he answered. “We certainly did.”

He brushed her scars. “They’re purple and red again. No more Winter’s Light.”

“There’s only Perseus to see,” she reminded him. “And I found, that once you were gone, I couldn’t really care at night.” She paused. “I only got your body back because Draco Malfoy insisted you had a wife and a child. Otherwise I think they might have been planning to burn it.” Imbolc shivered at the thought.

“How generous of him. I must show my thanks in some way—maybe I’ll give Lucius Malfoy a proper burial.” Her stomach clenched. That was right. Peverell had killed her oldest friend’s father in a ritual to come back to her.

“I nearly died when Potter opened the trap door.”

He traced her scars and sighed. “I never wanted you to feel that pain, to not have me for nearly a year.”

“Promise me that it will never happen again,” she begged with big violet eyes.

“I will do my utmost, my lady,” he swore as he leaned in for a long, soul searching kiss.

****

**THE END**


End file.
